Girls Together Sarcastically
by Dennis
Summary: The search for new gigs has slowed as Daria is overwhelmed with school and work. But the obvious solution may not be so easy to implement, even with help from an old friend.
1. Imperfect Circle

"This isn't working." Quinn Morgendorffer yanked her bass guitar over her head and tossed it aside with a clatter.

"Quinn! Be careful! You're not going to be able to play if you trash your bass." Daria Morgendorffer glared at her sister from across the basement, where she'd been fiddling with the amps.

"Daria, I'm not going to be able to play at all." Quinn matched her sister's glare with one of her own. "I can't sing and play the bass, no matter how hard I try. I'm not Bobby Joe, or something."

"You mean Billie Joe?" Daria couldn't help but smirk.

"What_ever!_" Moments like this were a reminder that, no matter how much she knew or how far she'd come, deep down Quinn was still Quinn and always would be.

"I think she's right," Jane Lane said from her perch behind the drums. Both Morgendorffer sisters turned in shock, and she continued. "Look, Daria, Quinn's singing is wonderful and she's really got presence, but she's not getting any better at bass."

As Daria paused to reply, Quinn jumped in, sensing weakness. "Yeah, and we need another voice. Jane's drumming is better every week, but she's no one's idea of a singer. We need a low voice to help us on the harmonies."

Daria looked back and forth between her two bandmates. She'd had this argument with Quinn before, but this was the first time Jane had taken a side. That it wasn't Daria's told her that her position was probably untenable. "We could—" she paused and sighed. "You're right. We do need a fourth."

She stared moodily around their practice area, the basement of the three-story house that contained her one-bedroom apartment. Talking her absentee landlord into letting them use the space hadn't been nearly as difficult as Daria might have expected, but then she should have taken into account that she lived in a college town. Her landlord was well aware of the habits of college students, hence the absentee status.

"It's just that the three of us fit. Jane and I can gang up on you, Quinn, when you're being flighty, and Quinn and I can gang up on you, Jane, when you're being lazy."

Jane laughed, "And Quinn and I can gang up on you, Daria, when you're being rigid and unreasonable, like right now." Quinn nodded, smiling. In different ways, they were the two people who knew Daria best. "We need a fourth. We'll just get some genius bass-chick who has no opinions as long as she gets to play."

"And sing low harmonies," Quinn added. "Sorry Jane, but your voice may be even worse than my bass."

Both fell silent, waiting expectantly. With a sigh, Daria gave in. "All right. It looks like Girls Together Sarcastically will be adding a fourth. But," she added, "we continue to practice as a three-piece until we find the right person. After all," she said, overriding Quinn's objections, "playing while you sing can't hurt if you want to pick up rhythm."

"Agreed." Jane smirked. Watching Daria ride herd over her sister was always entertaining.

"Agreed." Quinn grunted. At least Daria had thrown her a sop this time. Quinn had to admit that her sister was getting better at managing people.

"Then if we're all in agreement, I believe we had a couple more numbers we wanted to run through…"

Alone in her bedroom later, Daria struggled with lyrics by the light of her bedside lamp. It was a small room, similar to the old cell in Lawndale sans padding. The Kafka poster had made the trip with her and now overlooked a couple of full bookshelves, a much emptier dresser—Daria was still not one for too many clothes—and a spacious and cluttered work desk on which sat her trusty iMac. The iMac, a gift from her parents on the occasion of her starting at Raft, was now pushing two and a half, but had given her no trouble.

There was also a nondescript twin-sized bed, and it was there that Daria sat, back propped against the wall. She had always felt that poetry—and, by extension, lyrics—was best written in the most primitive fashion, since it usually dealt with the most primal emotions. Thus, she used an old-style marble-bound notebook as a lyrics book, one that right now seemed to be laughing at her. She knew why.

Jane and Quinn were right. Playing bass and singing was the musical version of patting your head while rubbing your stomach. Expecting Quinn, who had never picked up an instrument before joining the band, to do it was brutally unfair. Daria herself had taken guitar lessons for nearly two years while still in Highland. She had mentioned this in a late night conversation with Jane near the end of freshman year, and was surprised to find that Jane had, at a teenaged Trent's urging, learned the rudiments of the drums. Though she quickly lost interest in playing with her brother, in Mystik Spiral or any other form, Jane had never quite given up on the skins. It had taken some doing, and not a little histrionics, but she had finally convinced Daria that, with Daria's poetry serving as lyrics, they already had the basis for a band.

Quinn, on the other hand, had no instrumental background, but she did love to sing. Learning of Daria and Jane's plans on their return to Lawndale that summer and knowing that she'd be joining them in Boston in the fall—New England School of Design had accepted her—Quinn had set about convincing her sister that she would be the perfect vocalist for their little group. Daria had finally conceded, partly out of curiosity about Quinn's motivations and partly because she was forced to admit that her sister had a fabulous singing voice, although she'd set her sister two conditions. The first condition was that Quinn learn bass to keep their group a trio. Quinn had quickly agreed. The second was that "Girls Together Sarcastically" would be the band's name. Quinn had tried her hardest to sidetep this condition, but both Daria and Jane remained adamant: The name was a tribute to a man they both admired, as well as a pretty good explanation of what they were about, and Quinn would go before it did. In the end, Quinn had no choice but to agree.

Blood, sweat, and not a few tears shed over the next eighteen months had brought them to this point. Jane, Daria knew, was in it to make the big time. Daria had her reservations, which she believed Quinn shared, but found herself intrigued by the possibilities. After all, a platinum album would be a wonderful platform for her words, and in a world where Mystik Spiral's first CD was to appear on record store shelves any day, Daria had reason to believe that anything was possible. But they still needed a bassist. Loath as Daria was to admit an outsider into their charmed circle, she would have to accept it for the good of the group.

An idea struck her and she scribbled "Charmed Circle" at the top of an empty page in her notebook. Within minutes, she had a rough poem that could be polished into lyrics with a little time. Smiling to herself, she put the notebook aside, shut off the light, and got under the covers. She was soon fast asleep.

Rehearsals over the next couple of weeks went uncommonly well. From the start, the girls had committed themselves to a regular three-times-a-week rehearsal schedule. Keeping this schedule had often proved arduous, as Daria and Quinn were both forced to hold down part-time jobs as part of their agreement with their parents. Helen and Jake were willing to subsidize the girls in off-campus housing but they were adamant that the girls pay their own expenses. Between schoolwork and the jobs, the Morgendorffer sisters hardly had time to breathe sometimes, but they managed.

Jane, on the other hand, seemed to have no source of income. Her tuition was paid, and Quinn, with whom she shared an apartment a town over from Daria, reported that Jane's half of the rent was always there on the first of the month, even if Jane usually wasn't. When she wasn't at Daria's, which admittedly was most of the time, she seemed to drop out of sight. For all Daria knew, Jane could be stripping in one of the clubs in the Combat Zone, but she'd long since decided that prying into Jane's affairs was bad for her mental health.

Regardless, the girls had persevered, and in the last few weeks had begun to reap the rewards. Knowing that she would soon be free of the bass had relaxed Quinn immensely, and the relief had her in fine voice. Daria and Jane, no longer concerned with covering up for the bass, had also shown a marked improvement, and the basement rang with laughter and good humor, as well as something that to Daria's ear was beginning to approach music. They still needed a real bassist though, and that had Daria, if not looking forward to the ordeal of auditions, at least willing to endure it.

The first audition was scheduled for two o'clock that day, a Saturday. The three girls sat on the couch in Daria's apartment, chatting quietly. The living space was somewhat larger than the bedroom, with space for a long couch and a couple of chairs. Opposite them stood the entertainment center, holding an imposing television—another gift from Helen and Jake; this time for making the Dean's List freshman year—with a VCR/DVD combo and a small stereo, which Daria had treated herself to after a summer of hard work, both at the bookstore and with the band. On either side of the entertainment center were the doors to the bedroom and bathroom. A tiny kitchenette, rarely used except for the microwave, completed the apartment.

As the girls waited, their voices the only noise, two o'clock turned to three. Daria, who had to work at five, began to get irritated. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Relax, amiga," said Jane, who had a good idea what her friend was thinking. "Us artistic types have a relaxed attitude about time."

"Like Trent?" Daria asked in an acid tone. "I don't think 'Early, late, or whatever' is what we're going for here, Jane."

Jane smiled apologetically. "Trent takes things to extremes."

"But it works for him," added Quinn. "I mean, they've got a contract and an album and everything, right? You have to go with what works for you. That's what style is all about."

"Well, I don't think super slacker mode will work for me as a style, Quinn," Daria said. "I have to make the four-thirty bus if I'm going to be at the bookstore by five. If we have to work around 'Spiral-time,' we may as well just give up, grab the tin cups, and head for Crestmore Square to start our new careers as street beggars."

"Ewwww, Daria!" Quinn wrinkled her nose in disgust. "How can you even think that? It's bad enough I have to sweat while I sing—"

Mercifully, the deep tone of the doorbell cut Quinn off. Daria headed out the door and down one flight of stairs. Opening the front door of the house, she confronted a dark-haired girl who seemed to be a bit older than Daria.

"Uh… hey," the girl said in a drowsy voice. "I'm, uh, supposed to have an audition."

"You must be Cinder." Daria said in a more clipped than usual monotone. "I'm Daria. The rest of the band is upstairs."

"Cool," Cinder said, hefting a large black case that Daria could only assume contained her bass. "Sorry I'm late," she added as she followed Daria up the stairs. "I kinda lost track of time."

"Figures," Daria muttered. She snuck a look back to see if Cinder had heard her, but the other girl seemed to be fascinated by the walls of the stairwell. "Cool place," she said. Daria grunted something that could have been an assent as she led Cinder into the apartment.

"Jane, Quinn," Daria said as the other two girls stood, "this is Cinder. She's going to audition for bass. Cinder," she turned, "this is Jane Lane. She's the drummer." As she did the introductions, Daria got a better look at her prospective bandmate. Cinder was several inches taller than Daria, with near buzzcut-short black hair and more earrings than Jane. A blue nose stud dominated her otherwise unremarkable face, and her pants and jacket were a matching gray.

"And I'm Quinn Morgendorffer. I'm the singer. You've got a great look, but the clothes drain the color from your face."

Daria shot her sister a hard look. "Thank you, Quinn. We can have fashion hour later." With an apologetic nod, she continued. "Sorry about that. My sister had a terminal case of fashionitis. We thought she was in remission, but apparently it's come back. I play lead guitar, by the way."

"Sisters, huh?" Cinder smiled. "I can see the resemblance."

Identical looks of shock crossed the faces of the two Morgendorffers. Daria looked from Quinn back to Cinder, who seemed indifferent to the chaos she'd just caused.

"So where do we play?" She shifted the bass case on her back.

Jane jumped into the breach, not quite hiding an evil smile at her bandmates' discomfort. "The basement. It's down the back stairs."

She led them through the apartment's other door, in the kitchen area, and down the back stairs to the spacious basement, half of which was given over to assorted junk, a lot of it so rusted as to be unidentifiable. Another quarter was clearly a laundry area, with a washing machine and dryer set on concrete block.

Last was their rehearsal area, separated from the laundry area by drywall, creating the effect of a cubbyhole. Jane's drum kit—bass drum, snare, and three toms, one of which was a floor tom, along with ride, crash, and hi-hat cymbals—sat in the back like the lord of the kingdom, flanked by several small amps. In front of it were three microphone stands and off to the side were twin racks, one of which contained Daria's mint green Fender. Quinn's hot pink bass, however, had surrendered pride of place to the new bassist, leaving the other rack empty. On all three walls and the ceiling hung heavy quilts. "Compromise with the landlord," Jane explained at Cinder's puzzled look. "Dunno if it helps, but it makes him happy, so who are we to argue?" Grabbing her sticks off the snare, she hopped behind the kit, while Daria showed Cinder where to plug in and Quinn did breathing exercises.

"So what's your deal?" Cinder asked, after they'd set up.

"A pop-punk thing," Daria replied, "sort like an updated Runaways or Ramones." Daria had to laugh inwardly at her descriptions. Tom Sloane's secret fascination with early punk had been a shock to her when they were dating, but an even bigger shock was coming to like it herself. Her own musical interests pre-Lawndale had been almost entirely shaped by her parents, so it was only in the last couple of years that she'd learned that music didn't begin and end with the Beatles.

"A little like Eve's Plum," Jane added, "or the Donnas with brains."

"Lotta people doing the same thing," Cinder said diffidently.

"Well, it's just a starting point." This from Quinn, who had finished her breathing and taken her place by the mike stand. "With Daria's lyrics, we'll probably end up sounding like Smashing Pumpkins or something." Daria once again reflected on what a major change college life had wrought in Quinn. If Daria's musical tastes could be summed up as "sheltered" before leaving Lawndale, her boy-band-loving sister's could only be described as "appalling."

Cinder gave Daria a look. "You write, she sings?"

Daria nodded. "I have the words; she has the voice. Let's play."

They started with "Blitzkrieg Bop," and ran through "Basket Case," "Lipstuck," "Cherry Bomb," "Going Down to Liverpool," and "I Will Follow," before finishing with "Paperback Writer." Daria called out the tunes, and Jane gave the time. Both noted happily that Cinder was familiar with all the songs and didn't miss a beat. The sound was still raw to be sure, but with a strong bass complimenting Jane's drums, the songs were really starting to go. As the last notes faded, Daria looked back at Jane, who had a huge grin on her face.

"Not a jam band, huh?" Cinder asked, breaking the moment.

"Well, we won't be doing 'Dark Star' or opening for Rusted Root anytime soon, if that's what you mean," Daria said as she set down her guitar and began putting it away.

"Three minutes, tops," Jane added, "or Quinn and I get bored."

"Not fair," said Quinn. "I don't mind slower stuff. You're the one who insists everything be short and to the point."

"What can I say?" Jane returned her drumsticks to their previous resting place. "I like to play fast. I'm like a young Keith Moon."

"Or Animal from the Muppet Show," Daria shot back. "Now, there's an idea. We could chain you to the drum kit to keep you out of trouble."

Cinder cut in before Jane could answer back. "That's okay. Playing fast is cool."

"Well, then, let me talk to my bandmates and we'll see where we go from here." Daria smiled a Mona Lisa smile.

"Uh. Look," Cinder started, and then paused uncomfortably. "You don't have to bother to decide. I'm gonna, uh, take a pass." She packed up her bass and lifted it to her back, while Jane and Quinn exchanged shocked looks.

"Huh?" Daria tried to hide her disappointment. "I thought we sounded good. You and Jane really meshed, and the harmony will get better with practice."

Cinder's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Sound's not bad. Harmony won't get better though."

Daria folded her arms. "Feel free to explain that whenever you want."

"You and your sister." Cinder's glance traveled from Daria to Quinn. "Total opposites. If you ever make it, you'll make the Gallaghers look like the Petersons. I don't need the hassle."

"So you're saying that Quinn and I aren't mature enough to keep from ripping the band apart?" Daria asked in her coldest voice.

Cinder shook her head. "Didn't say that at all. You've got as good a shot as anyone. Maybe better. You've got something good going on."

"So you won't join, even though you think we have a shot. Why?" Jane asked.

"Even if do you make it, I've got a feeling you'll hate every minute. Your two bandmates," she nodded at Daria and Quinn, "are a time bomb. And when they go off, it's not going to be pretty." She turned to the door that led up the stairs. "I'll let myself out."

The thud of the closing door was the only sound in the basement for long moment, before all three girls began speaking at once: Jane excitedly about their chances of making the big time; Quinn angrily about the implication that she and Daria were too immature to work together; and Daria quietly about what in their behavior would set off alarm bells in someone as experienced as Cinder seemed to be. Realizing that her own words were being lost and no actual communication was occurring, Daria kept her thoughts to herself until Jane's enthusiasm and Quinn's anger ran their separate courses. While they settled down, Daria decided to keep her concerns to herself for the moment.

"Well," she said, when she judged the other two girls were ready to listen, "who's the next audition?"

Quinn looked shocked. "You're not mad or worried about what she said?" she asked.

"No," Daria lied matter-of-factly. "She's not going to be playing with us, so her opinion doesn't count. What does count is that we still don't have a bassist. So we need to worry about auditions. Jane?"

Jane, who had been lost in a daydream where both the art and music worlds groveled at her feet, snapped back to reality. "Uh, we have two tomorrow afternoon and one on Wednesday night."

"Good," Daria nodded. "So, things are rolling right along. I have to work tonight, but why don't you two get here early tomorrow and we'll go for pizza or something. On me." Jane and Quinn both agreed enthusiastically.

Later, waiting for the bus in the late February raw, Daria let herself consider Cinder's words. She knew that entente between Quinn and herself was a fairly new phenomenon and she still worried that the spirit of cooperation could collapse at any minute, revealing Quinn to be as self-centered as ever, or worse, Daria the rigid self-righteous misanthrope she'd always feared she'd become. Bands, she knew from watching that peculiar four-headed entity known as Mystik Spiral, were difficult at the best of times. You lived in each other's pockets all the time. Even as kids, Daria and Quinn had always been able to avoid each other if they really needed to, retreating to neutral corners as it were, but within Girls Together Sarcastically, she knew that wouldn't be possible. Cinder's grim prediction worried her, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She and Quinn would have to cooperate. They had been so far, which was encouraging. As they bus pulled up, Daria shoved the doubts down. She and Quinn would be fine. They had to be.

Two months later, the doubts were stronger than ever. The three auditions that followed Cimber's had all been unmitigated disasters. Despite their insistence on an all-female lineup, one of the auditions was a guy in comically bad drag who was convinced he could win them over with his playing, even though it had become quickly apparent that his bass skills were on a par with his disguise skills. Daria had driven him off with a few cutting remarks, and the girls had laughed about it later. The other two auditions were merely bad. The girls were nice enough, but neither of them had even Quinn's rudimentary bass skills.

Initially, it hadn't seemed so bad. They could laugh at the bad auditions, not realizing how lucky they'd been to get someone as talented as Cinder on the first try. As February turned to March and March to April, the string of failed auditions began to wear on the girls. For one thing, the semester was winding down, placing free time at even more of a premium. Daria never sweated midterms, but the end of April was when her various papers were due, each of which required solid days of research in the library, which had to be eked out around her classes and job, if Daria was going to stay on course for graduation. She knew Quinn and Jane had similar crunches: Though they both had presentations throughout the semester, the big projects—the ones that determined the semester grade—were all due at the end of April as well.

On top of that were the auditions themselves. Girls Together Sarcastically was made up of unknowns, and unknowns simply didn't draw much talent. Most of the girls who auditioned were nice enough, but almost none of them could play even as well as Quinn. The few who could were all slightly older women looking for a backing band. Girls Together Sarcastically hadn't been founded to play backup to anyone, so those auditions always followed a similar pattern. The bassist would make two or three condescending offers to "guide" the girls, after which Daria, acknowledged by mutual consensus as the best at telling people off, would issue a blistering reminder of exactly who was auditioning for who. At that point, the would-be bassist/bandleader would usually leave in a huff. If she didn't, Daria, sometimes assisted by Jane or Quinn, would continue to insult her until she did.

The problem, Daria reflected, as she headed up the stairs to the apartment one Friday evening after a dreadful all-day shift at the bookstore, was time. Time was at a premium. Daria had wanted to be playing in front of audiences after two years, which would be this August. To do that, they needed to break in a bassist, but even stealing an hour to audition one was nearly impossible. They would have plenty of time during the summer, but that would be too late. After the semester, all three girls were returning to Lawndale for two weeks—Daria and Quinn to reassure Helen and Jake; Jane to see if squatters or her nieces and nephews had taken up residence in Casa Lane—and by the time they got back it would already be June. If they didn't find someone in the next couple of weeks, they were going to lose months.

Grim thoughts in her head, Daria reached for the doorknob, only to pause as she heard Jane's voice through the door. Jane's presence in her empty apartment wasn't a total shock to Daria, who had given Jane a key on moving in. Quinn's voice was a little more surprising, but not much. Letting curiosity overcome manners, Daria turned the knob slowly and cracked the door to hear what they were saying.

"She's not going to like this," Quinn said.

"For the fifth time, Quinn, Daria will just have to deal." The irritation in Jane's voice made Daria wince. "If she's willing to play on our terms and she's as good as she says she is, I don't see how Daria can object. Did you set up an audition?"

"Yes, for tomorrow at one. I'm not telling her, though." Quinn actually sounded frightened. Daria briefly wondered what kind of a martinet she'd turned into. And why was Quinn so worried about setting up an audition?

"Fine. I'll tell her," Jane said.

Daria decided that she'd heard enough. "Tell me what?" she asked as she pushed open the door, with what she hoped was a pleasant expression on her face.

Jane and Quinn both almost leaped to their feet, eyes fixed on Daria with something akin to horror. "Uh, we have an audition tomorrow," Jane said after an uncomfortable moment.

"So I'd gathered," Daria said dryly. "Now, which one of you wants to give me the bad news?"

"Bad news?" Quinn said tentatively, "There's no bad news. It's just another audition, and she's really good."

"Uh huh. That's why you two are hanging around my apartment in your copious spare time, looking at me like I've just finished the Idi Amin Leadership and Home Cooking Correspondence Course." Daria gave Quinn a cold glare. "Spill."

Panicking, Quinn began to babble. "Well, I ran into her at a sale at one of the boutiques in town and we got to talking and she asked me what I was up to and I sort of mentioned the band, and I told her we needed a bass player, and how was I supposed to know she could play? She never mentioned it in Lawndale and I never would have guessed, but then I never guessed that Stacy liked magic so much and I had to listen to her and, Daria, she's really good…"

"Wait!" Daria threw herself in the path of Quinn's verbal barrage. "It's someone from Lawndale?!"

Quinn nodded, shutting up.

"Not Upchuck in drag, I hope." This earned a chuckle from Jane.

"Well, that's something, at least." Suddenly, the pieces clicked. Quinn's nerves, Jane's reluctance, the mention of Stacy. Everything made sense. "Quinn," Daria said, "I'm going to ask you again who will be auditioning with us tomorrow, and when I do, you're going to tell me it's Sandi Griffin, aren't you?"

Quinn nodded again, eyes darting.

"Fine," Daria said. "then I won't ask. I'm going to beat my head against the wall. Or I could use the basement, where there's cement. Much harder than this stuff."

"Daria--" Jane began.

"Sandi Griffin, Jane. I don't like her. You don't like her. For fuck's sake, even _Quinn_ doesn't like her."

"Hey!" Quinn broke in. "That's not fair."

"Fine, Quinn. Look me in the eye and tell me you like Sandi after all the crap she gave you in high school." Quinn met her sister's glare for a long moment before looking away.

"I thought so." Daria enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction.

"Daria," Jane said, "we're not in a position to beg."

"It's not about that, Jane! It's about…" Daria paused, and Jane leaped into the breach.

"It's about what, Daria? We need a bassist. Let's hear her play before blowing her off."

Daria started to say something and stopped. She stared at Jane for a long moment and then suddenly rose. "Fine. Whatever. Tomorrow. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone. You can show yourselves out." Heading to the bedroom, she slammed the door on Quinn's plaintive, "That didn't go well at all." Opening a history text, she tried to study, but couldn't focus. Giving up, she put her headphones on, sat on her bed, and played loud music for hours until she fell asleep.

The next morning, having used the music to burn off her rage, a much calmer Daria headed down to the rehearsal space with her acoustic in hand. She spent a relaxing couple of hours practicing her fingering and enjoying the quiet. At the thump of boots on the stairs she looked up. "Hey, Jane," she said as the door opened.

"Hey, Daria," Jane replied, black backpack slung over her shoulder. "Practicing?"

Daria nodded. "I haven't played in a couple of days. I probably should be studying, but I want to work on my fingering. After all," she smiled wryly, "we have an audition today."

Jane took a seat next to Daria. "About that…"

"Not your fault, Jane. Mine. It's just…" Daria shuddered. "Sandi Griffin."

"Yeah. Now Quinn has a Fashion Fiend faction."

"Not just that." A shower of discordant notes came from the guitar as Daria strummed aimlessly. "It's hard to explain." She set the guitar aside, then turned to face Jane. "Until I moved to Lawndale, I always thought that Quinn was the worst thing I'd have to deal with. She was vain, shallow, and stupid... and she was ashamed of me."

"The cousin thing," Jane said.

"The cousin thing," Daria nodded. "It started at summer camp. I was twelve and Quinn had just turned eleven. And it kept on like that for five years. I told myself that it didn't matter. My sister was the worst person in the world, so why should I care if she treated me like crap?"

"Daria…"

"Things changed between me and Quinn after we moved to Lawndale. Slowly, but…" she paused, with an expressive shrug. "Quinn started to realize that her head served a purpose besides supporting bouncy hair, which made her easier to relate to. And thanks to some great people, especially my partner in crime—" Jane had to smile at that, "I started to realize that other people could be worth bothering with. Even Quinn, I suppose. You know what the other thing was?"

"Lemme guess," Jane said with a half-smile. "You found someone worse than Quinn."

"Got it in one. One of the things that made me see that Quinn had redeeming qualities was meeting someone with none of those qualities. Sandi's like Quinn's more evil opposite."

"Like that _Star Trek _episode." Jane said then grinned. "That gives me an idea." Pulling her sketchbook out of her bag, she began roughing out an image in pencil, an image of a feminine face with long brown hair and attractive features marred by a black goatee.

Daria watched her friend indulgently for a minute before continuing. "Yes, O officer of the Imperial Federation of Planets. That's what I'm talking about. I'm afraid Sandi's going to be a bad influence on Quinn, but most of all I'm afraid of having to deal with someone like that."

"You did every day, at school."

"No, I didn't." Daria sighed. "At school, I could always keep her away. None of Quinn's friends really wanted to deal with me. The only people that would were you, Jodie, and Brittany. And even if Brittany only bothered with me because she was too stupid to know she wasn't wanted, she was at least nice enough to try."

"We don't have to take her, you know."

"Actually, we do. We've been floundering around for nearly two years now, and we're finally building up some momentum. We can get paying gigs by August, but if we don't get a bassist now, we won't have time to work her in. Then school starts again and who knows how much time we'll lose. I suppose we could force Quinn, but I don't think her heart's in it, even if she'd be ready in time."

"Daria's right," Quinn added from the doorway as Jane and Daria turned in surprise. "We do need a bassist and it can't be me."

"Who let you in?" Daria gave Quinn an evil look, one that Quinn returned unruffled. "Grow up, Daria. I copied Jane's key three days after you gave it to her," she said, walking over and taking a seat next to Daria and Jane. "You're right about the timing, but only if we're ready. There's no way I'm going to be ready to play by August. Not in front of people."

"So, if Sandi can do it, I guess she's in," Jane said.

"Even is she is my more evil twin," Quinn added.

"Quinn…" Daria said in protest.

"Daria…" Quinn mocked, then added. "Don't worry about it. Neither of us was the best sister, but we're past all that, right?"

Daria paused for a moment, seeing a challenge in Quinn's eyes. Cinder's gloomy predictions of renewed sibling warfare rose in Daria's mind again. Comparing them to the Gallagher brothers, who occasionally squeezed in making music in the band Oasis around a nonstop schedule of abusing each other in the press, was a particularly low blow. Ruthlessly, she crushed her black thoughts. "Yeah, Quinn. We're past it. It's twelve now. What time did you say the audition was?"

"One," Quinn supplied.

"Fine. Let's set up now, then, so we can get started as soon as she gets here. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

Both Quinn and Jane nodded and the three girls got to work.

Sandi let the last bass note fade, while Daria banged out one more chord and Jane covered everything with a wash of cymbals before snapping off a quick roll to end the song. As the music faded and Quinn left her mike to towel off, Daria took a deep breath, allowing her to come to grips with the bare facts. Sandi was good. She was better than good. The four of them had ripped through eight songs in less than half an hour and to Daria's ears, no one had missed a note. Sadly, the music was not the only issue.

Helen had once said in Daria's hearing that one of the things she hated most about Sandi's mother Linda was her disapproving eyes. When Daria, for once intrigued by her mother's words, asked what she meant, Helen had tried her best to explain. "It's not easy to put into words, sweetie, but with certain people, you can tell that no matter what they're looking at, they can find something wrong. It's just the way they look at everything and everyone. Your grandfather Morgendorffer was like that. Linda Griffin is, too. It's like nothing in the world can match up with what they see in the mirror every morning."

Reflecting on her mother's words, Daria concluded that whatever other traits she had, Sandi certainly had her mother's eyes. Disapproving eyes. Not that she'd been difficult today. Far from it: Sandi had been punctual and reasonably pleasant. Though she still pronounced Quinn's name with two syllables, she didn't refer to Daria as "Quinn's cousin" once, nor did she pronounce "Jane" as "that weird art chick." In fact, she hadn't said much at all. She'd just played what she was asked—a set similar to what they'd played for all the auditions right back to Cinder. And played it well. None of their stuff was musically complex—no Yes covers here—but Sandi was fast and steady, and clicked well with Jane. She seemed a gift from heaven, the answer to all their prayers. Only she hadn't smiled. Not once. And there were those eyes.

After Daria and Sandi put their instruments away, Sandi headed upstairs to let the bandmates make their decision. Jane, who hadn't moved from behind the drum kit, leaned forward. "We sounded good. Who'da thunk the little fashion fiend could play?" Daria nodded slowly.

Quinn joined them, having finished her ablutions. Her doll face was marred with a frown, though. "I don't think this going to work, Daria," she said, without preamble. "I don't think Sandi's going to fit."

Before Daria could respond, Jane jumped in. "Why not? We sounded great. She and I really clicked on the backbeat."

Quinn's frown deepened. "I just don't think she's right. Working with her will be impossible."

Jane snorted. "Impossible how, Quinn? She was punctual, polite, and efficient. And she's perfect for what we're trying to do."

Sensing an ear-piercing whine coming on, Daria cut Quinn off. "Jane has a point. As a musician, do you have any objections to Sandi's audition?"

Quinn struggled visibly before finally giving in. "No. She was fine. Even her harmonies weren't too bad. But you don't know her like I do."

"What's to know, Quinn? You were the one who set up the audition. Now, all of a sudden you can't work with her?" Jane's tone was sardonic.

Sensing her sister's anger growing, Daria raised a hand. "Hold on, Jane. Quinn has a point, too. We don't know Sandi like she does. Quinn, what are you worried about?"

Daria's interjection seemed to calm Quinn. "Look, you two saw how she was today, right? She was pleasant enough, but she was totally cold. That's the nicest she'll ever be to you. She'll try to be fake friends with me because we were in the Fashion Club together, but all she'll really want is to use me to take over."

"This isn't the Fashion Club, Quinn," Jane said. "There's no Stacy Rowe to push around here."

"Doesn't matter, Jane." Quinn's voice was cracking, a clear sign that her temper was, too. "That's just what Sandi does. She takes over. Doesn't matter if she's the best person for the job. I thought she might have changed, you know, but I can tell she hasn't."

Watching her sister lose her composure, Daria was beginning to see Quinn's point of view. After all, Quinn knew Sandi better than Daria or Jane did, and Daria knew Quinn. Her sister clearly didn't want to deal with Sandi, and after years of watching them interact in the Fashion Club, Daria could certainly see why. On the other hand, Sandi was just what they needed. Improvement had been measurable over the last several months, but they had hit a wall with Quinn's bass playing, and a good bassist was just the thing they needed to keep the momentum going. With Sandi, Daria thought they could meet her timetable. Otherwise, they didn't have a chance.

As if in answer to Daria's thoughts, Jane said, "Can we afford to pass her up, Quinn? She puts us right where we need to be." Unable to answer, Quinn just looked at the floor.

"In that case," Daria said, feeling they'd said all that needed to be said, "I think it's time we vote. Jane?"

"Yo!"

"Am I correct in assuming that your vote is for Sandi to join?"

"Correcto, amiga!"

"And Quinn?"

Quinn made a small grumbling sound, without looking up.

"I'm going to take that as a vote against Sandi joining."

Quinn made no attempt to disagree, so Daria took that as an affirmative. "I see. This leaves the decision in my hands." She sighed. "Wonderful," she said, her tone wry. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to go upstairs and tell Sandi that we'll let her know tomorrow?" Jane shot her an evil look, while Quinn continued to ignore her.

"Fine." Daria really didn't want to make this decision, but she'd known from the moment they decided to find a bassist that the choice would eventually come down to her. Could she live with Sandi? Her heart said no. Quinn was right; Sandi would wreck everything for the sheer joy of destruction if she didn't get her way. But her head said yes. She would make it work. She and Jane were stronger than Sandi and they'd make it work. Daria Morgendorffer had always lived by her head and not her heart. Even if forming the band was the ultimate expression of emotion over reason, that was no reason to let emotion determine how things were run.

"We've got to take her," Daria said. "We have no choice."

Quinn looked up and heaved a resigned sigh. "I guess we'd better tell her then." All three girls headed for the stairs. When they got upstairs, they saw that Sandi had made herself comfortable on the couch. The television was on and she'd snagged a beer.

"Well?" She regarded them coolly.

"We talked it over, and we'd like you to join the band, Sandi," Daria said. Behind her, Quinn and Jane nodded.

"Okay."

"Can you be here on Tuesday night at 7?"

"Whatever."

Daria thought about disapproving eyes. Then she thought about how much they needed a bassist. "Welcome to the band, then," she said.

"Sure." Without another word, Sandi gathered up her bass and left, leaving her new bandmates wondering just what they'd gotten themselves into.

**Author's Note:**  
This is my first published fanfic, and the first in a planned series of stories about Daria, Jane, Quinn, and Sandi as a band. The title is taken from the song "Perfect Circle by R.E.M. I like the idea of exploring the relationships between the characters in a different way, and I like rock and roll, so sticking them in a band seemed like a good idea. It's not anything supported by canon, but it's not outside the realm of possibility. And besides, it's fun.

Some of my musical references are no doubt out of date, as I'm about 10 years older than Daria, and my taste runs more towards classic rock, anyway. I'll do my best to reference at least _some_ stuff that kids in college five years ago would listen to, but I make no promises. Also, I didn't know when I wrote the line, but know now that Billy Joe Armstrong plays guitar, not bass, for Greenday. That said, I figured it's a natural mistake for Quinn to make, so I left it in.


	2. Interlude: Dude Looks Like a Lameass

"Just once," Daria Morgendorffer said, irritation obvious in her voice, "I'd like someone to show up on time for one of these things." They'd been auditioning bass players for their band, Girls Together Sarcastically, for about a month, and hadn't come close to finding the right woman for the band in almost that long.

"Relax," said Jane Lane, seated with Daria on the couch of Daria's one-bedroom apartment. "I'm sure she'll be here soon."

"Yeah," chimed in Daria's sister Quinn, just returning from the kitchen with a can of diet coke in hand. "We go through this every time. You'd think you'd be used to it by now."

"And every time, I say the same thing," Daria said, seething. "None of us has the time to waste waiting for wannabes less interested in playing bass than in indulging in an almost Mystik Spiral–like devotion to redefining 'on time' as 'whenever the hell I feel like showing up.'"

Jane laughed. "And every time, I tell you to relax. We're holding auditions for a band, Daria, not performing brain surgery on the President."

"If she's late for an audition, what makes you think she won't be late for a gig?" Daria countered.

"We haven't gotten that far, Daria," Quinn said. "Let's worry about getting a bassist before we worry about blowing a gig."

Before Daria could reply, the doorbell rang. "Finally," she huffed as she rose to answer it.

With Daria out of the room, Jane and Quinn shared a look. "I hope we find a bassist soon," Quinn finally said. "Otherwise, I think Daria's going to snap."

"Taking you with her?" Jane laughed. "Don't worry, Quinn. You know being annoyed is like breathing for Daria. She can't live without it."

After a moment, a poker-faced Daria reappeared in the doorway. "Guys," she said, her voice even more devoid of inflection than usual, "this is Michelle." A redheaded figure, towering over Daria's 5' 2" by more than a head, appeared behind her in the doorway. "Michelle," Daria added, with a slight stress on the name, "this is the rest of GTS. Jane Lane, the drummer—" Jane inclined her head, smothering a laugh, "and my sister Quinn, the lead singer." After a moment of shock, Quinn acknowledged Michelle, also with a nod.

"Shall we?" Daria said, walking through the living room toward the back stairs that led to their basement rehearsal space. As Michelle followed, Quinn hesitated, grabbing Jane by the arm. "Jane, isn't that—"

Before she should finish, Jane interrupted. "Yup."

"So why is Daria—"

Jane grinned. "You know Daria. If she's letting this happen, she has her reasons. Now, come on. Let's go have fun at someone else's expense."

With a shrug, Quinn followed Jane down the stairs.

Getting set up had long since become routine for the Girls; this wasn't their first, or even fifth, audition, so Daria, Quinn, and Jane were ready to play within five minutes of Michelle's arrival. This gave them ringside seats for Michelle's increasingly ludicrous attempts to plug in.

"Wow," Quinn said, "I wasn't the best bassist in the world, but I never got tangled in my own input lead."

Daria chuckled quietly, "Don't think of it as clumsy, Quinn."

"Think of it as killer performance art," Jane finished.

The bandmates watched in amusement for another few minutes before Quinn offered Michelle help. The lanky redhead refused, finally managing to untangle storklike limbs from the offending lead cable.

"Okay," said Daria. "We've established that you're able to plug a bass into an amplifier." She paused to share a sardonic look with Jane and Quinn, "if given enough time. Care to play?"

"That's what I'm here to do," said Michelle and struck a pose almost reminiscent of a bassist. Fingers flowed over bass strings, producing a wash of slightly discordant twanging.

"It also helps to turn on the amplifier," Daria deadpanned, as Quinn and Jane struggled to hide their laughter.

With everyone finally in place, Daria regarded Michelle again. "Okay, we do a pop-punk thing, so there aren't a lot of time shifts or complex meters. But we to play pretty fast, and you'll have to play steady to help keep Jane in time."

Brown eyes met Daria's. "Sure thing. Steady as a rock." To demonstrate, Michelle laid down a simple bass line, lasting almost three measures before flubbing.

"Sure. We'll start with 'Blitzkrieg Bop.' I'll call the time." Daria did so, and Jane began the song's famous drum intro. Even before Quinn's cue, it was clear that Michelle was falling behind, playing only one in three notes, despite the look of intense concentration on the olive face. As the song limped to the finish, Daria sighed heavily. "Need some time to warm up?"

"No. I'm flying!" Michelle shouted, pumping a fist, before turning at a sudden sound behind her. "Anything the matter?" This to Jane, who had made the sound.

"Just something in my throat," Jane said, features contorted with the attempt to stifle a guffaw. Quinn, meanwhile, put her head in her hands, shaking quietly.

"Shall we try another?" Daria asked, dry as ever. "'I Will Follow" this time?"

Michelle's only answer was a ripple of bass strings, followed by a muffled, "Ouch!"

Again, Daria called the time, and again, the song limped along. Quinn was in fine voice, and Jane's drumming had some of Larry Mullen's whipcrack authority. Daria's playing was clean and economical, but Michelle—head bobbing, neck protrusion almost bouncing with effort—hit only one note in four. As the song staggered to a finish, Michelle unwisely attempted a closing flourish.

"Daria, I've never seen someone get their fingers tangled in bass strings like that before," Quinn whispered to her sister.

"Neither have I, Quinn." Daria replied. "You know, the White Stripes don't use a bass player."

"The who?" Quinn asked.

"New band," Daria said. "Never mind."

Jane, meanwhile, was laughing so hard she'd fallen off the drum stool.

"So," Michelle said, finally free of the bass, "what should we play next?"

"I thing we've seen all we need." Daria said.

"So I'm in?" Michelle said, a smile forming.

This set Jane into fresh paroxysms of laughter, while Quinn struggled mightily to keep a straight face. Daria spared a look for both of them before responding. "Well, no. Actually, you're not what we're looking for."

The smile died on Michelle's face, replaced by an angry look. "What do you mean, I'm not what you're looking for?"

"For starters," Daria said, deadpan as ever, "this is an all-girl band, which means you lack an important qualification."

"Which is?"

"You're a guy." At this, Quinn gave up the ghost and collapsed in hysterical laughter next to Jane.

"What the hell?! I'm a woman!" The outrage was clear on Michelle's face.

"Yeah." Daria said. "And I can tell by your Adam's apple, which was bobbing the whole time you played."

"That's just the way my neck is shaped."

"What about your coloring? Olive skin, brown eyes, and red hair means you're either the love child of Don Corleone and Pippi Longstocking or you should have tried a better wig."

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," Michelle said, voice cracking between a falsetto and a much deeper tenor. "I've got boobs and everything."

"No," Daria said. "You may be a boob, but you don't have them. Because one of them has given up the ghost and is currently in the vicinity of your waist." She pointed to an odd bulge on Michelle's right side. "Oranges, I assume? How cliché."

"But you gotta let me play," he said, speaking entirely in his normal tenor. "I'm a killer bassist and I'll make you guys better."

"Actually," Daria said, "your bass skills are about on a par with your disguise skills."

Jane recovered herself enough to chime in. "Yeah, Mike, you weren't keeping up at all. I mean, you seem like a nice enough guy…."

Well, actually," Daria cut in, "you seem like a moron. How about we walk you upstairs, then you leave, and we all forget this ever happened."

For a moment, it looked like he would lose his temper, but then his face crumbled, and he ran from the room, on the verge of tears, as Jane and Quinn gave in again to gales of laughter, joined this time by Daria.

After they'd gotten control of themselves again, and Quinn regarded her sister. "I just have one question, Daria. Obviously, you knew he was a man right off."

"Naturally," Daria replied.

"Why didn't you just send him right out? Why bother with the audition at all?"

"I wanted to see what would happen. If nothing else, I figured we'd get a good laugh out of it." Daria gave Quinn a Mona Lisa smile. "Which we did."

Jane started to chuckle again. "Don't get me started. I think I've laughed enough for one day." Standing up, she added, "At any rate, I think we can say we've seen the last of 'Michelle.'"

"I'm not so sure, Jane," Daria said, as she unplugged her guitar and returned it to the stand.

"Why?"

"When he ran out, he forgot his bass."

The laughter started again as they headed up the stairs.


	3. Modern Girls and Retro Rock and Roll

**Modern Girls and Retro Rock and Roll**

"One, two, three―" Daria Morgendorffer began to count out the time again, when her sister Quinn interrupted. "I hate this stupid song. Why do we have to do it?"

"We've gone over this before, Quinn." Daria's eyes behind her glasses were narrowing, which Quinn knew never a good sign. "It's a good song to close with. We'll mostly be doing the same covers everyone else does, and this will help us stand out, even if our own stuff doesn't."

"Why would they want to hear it?" Quinn knew she was being petty―after all, they'd had this argument several times before―but she didn't care. "It's a stupid song."

"'Roadrunner' is a Boston classic, Quinn," Jane Lane jumped in from behind the drum kit. "Lots of people know it, but not too many bands play it any more."

Quinn was feeling ganged up on again and didn't like it. She knew better than to look to Sandi Griffin―standing mutely, bass in hand―for support. Sandi rarely involved herself in the squabbling unless it was really important to her, and she'd made it clear that she didn't really care what was in the set list.

Daria cleared her throat. "If we're done?" Without waiting, she started counting time again.

Quinn knew the argument was tired, and that having it again would piss Daria off to no end, but she couldn't help herself. "We're not done. Isn't there another song we could close with?" When Daria rounded on her, Quinn swore she could see steam coming out of her sister's ears.

"You want us to maybe play something perkier, Quinn?" Daria said, an edge to her voice.

"Well, it might help." When Quinn got nervous, she started babbling, and under Daria's withering glare, she was off and running. "I mean, I know we're not doing anything really perky, because that's what boy bands and teen pop girls do, and we're going for a cooler crowd, because this is a college town, but there's gotta be something that's cool enough for college, but not, you know, weird, or anything because not that many college students wear clothes that are three sizes to big and don't comb there hair, or at least I hope not..."

"Quinn!" Daria shouted, bringing her to a stop. "We have reasons for doing this song, you know."

"But..."

Before Quinn could get going again, Daria rolled right over her. "We're definitely closing with one of the covers, right?"

Quinn nodded, knowing she wasn't expected to say anything.

"And we decided it would be cool to close with something related to Boston, since that's where we all are. No one thinks a rockin' medley of hits about New York, LA, or Chicago is going to bring the house down here. So we decided to close with 'Roadrunner.'"

_You and Jane decided_, Quinn started to say, before deciding it was a bad idea. Getting in Daria's face when she was already angry would only make it worse, and she didn't want this to turn into a screaming fight. "But it's so geeky," she said, retreating for now.

Jane laughed. "If you didn't want geeky, Quinn, you picked the wrong bandmates."

"Look, this all very productive, but could we, like, get on with it?" Sandi didn't bother to hide her irritation. "If we're not playing, I have better things to do."

Daria grimaced. "Sandi's right. We've got auditions in ten days, and I'd like to get through this damn song once without screwing up. So, if you don't mind," she shot Quinn a glare before counting off again. "One, two, three, four, five, six..."

Quinn slid the key into the lock. No light under the door. Good. She unlocked and opened the door as quietly as she could and slipped in, letting as little of the hall light as possible into the living room. Jane would sometimes crash on the couch when she'd been sketching or just watching TV. Waking her would probably be Bad.

Quinn wasn't really sneaking―at least she told herself that―she just didn't want to talk. Work had sucked. She'd made mistake after mistake, and her "But I'm cute, redheaded, and really, really trying" defense hadn't worked with anyone―not even the guys. Even though it was only Wednesday, some of the other waiters were going out after work, but with less than half her usual take in her pocket, Quinn didn't feel like paying Crestmore Square prices for even one or two drinks.

Shedding her light jacket―Septembers could be cold in the Boston area, especially at night―Quinn was about to congratulate herself on her escape when Jane's bedroom door opened suddenly. Frozen, Quinn swore lightly under her breath as the living room light came on.

"Hi Quinn," Jane didn't look out of it at all, which told Quinn that she hadn't been asleep. Quinn knew from experience that her roommate took as long as half an hour to wake up sometimes, and never less than ten minutes. "I thought you might like to talk."

"Uh… thanks, Jane." Quinn said, "but I think I'd rather just go to sleep. It's been a rough day."

"Let me put that another way." Jane gave her a Look―one that said Quinn would not get off the hook that easily. "I thought you might _need_ to talk."

"What's to talk about?" Quinn said. "I had a rotten night at work and I'm ready for bed."

"Not so good during the day either," Jane quipped. "How long did Daria lay into your after Sandi and I left?"

"Twenty minutes," Quinn sighed.

"Only twenty?" Jane grinned. "Daria must be getting soft."

"That's how long it took me to get past her and out the door. For all I know, she's still there yelling at my picture or something." Quinn looked down. "Jane, the nicest thing she called me were childish and unprofessional, or at least I think those were the worst, because I'm not sure what some of the other words meant."

"She can really do damage when she gets going. I've never seen someone wield a tongue quite like that." Jane's face twisted into a leer. "Other ways are more more fun anyway."

"Ewww. I don't want to know."

Jane laughed. "Have a seat. You've had a tough day. I'll grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and we can talk."

"Uh sure." Quinn took a seat on the sofa. They'd gotten it secondhand, and she felt the red was a little strong for furniture, but she had to admit it did balance the rest of the room nicely. Unlike Daria's place, which was plain and functional, her and Jane's apartment had a touch of class. Drapes hung in the windows, and the coffee table was elegant rather than boxy. Prints of some of the old masters, courtesy of Jane, decorated the two of the three walls―the fourth was a kitchenette.

Quinn had to admit, living with an artist had its good points. Jane had unerring color sense when she chose to use it, and she knew how to get good stuff cheaply, something Quinn had never even thought about until now. Even the paintings fit the room's design. Of course, Jane's room was different, but that had been part of their agreement on moving in together. Jane got the bigger bedroom for her artwork, but Quinn got the closets, and the living space had to be kept inspiration-free.

After a long moment, Jane returned with the beers. "So, what's up? I assume this isn't just part of a complex plot to put Daria in the loony bin." With a smirk, she added, "If for no other reason than that she'd probably be sent up for killing you."

Quinn opened the beer and took a sip. "I don't know, Jane. It's not like I'm trying to piss Daria off." Unhappiness painted her face. "I'm just good at it, I guess."

Jane gave Quinn a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, well. It's pretty easy to do, and you've had more practice than anyone."

"I know," Quinn said, "And it worries me. Remember what that girl said at the first audition." She felt fear closing over her again―the fear that she and Daria were doomed to repeat the sibling battles of their mother and Aunt Rita. A total stranger could tell.

"Not really," Jane smiled. "She was kinda out there."

"I don't know," Quinn said. "She seemed pretty sharp to me. She said that Daria and I would never get along, that we'd eventually mess up everything with our fighting. She compared us to the guys from Oasis, you know, the brothers who are always beating each other up and saying mean stuff about each other in magazines."

"Quinn," Jane's expression grew serious. "It's no big deal. Cinder spent an hour with us. What makes you think she knows us better than we do?"

"If it was no big deal, why do you remember her name?_"_

Jane tried to shrug it off, but Quinn was having none of it. Her eyes bored into Jane's until Jane gave in. "Alright. She got to me too. But that doesn't change what I said. Sometimes, you have to ignore what other people say. You know, like Daria. She didn't have any problem ignoring Cinder."

"Yeah, well, Daria's good at ignoring people," Quinn said, flatly.

"Usually you, right?" Jane gave her an impish smile.

"You're not helping, Jane." Quinn's voice came out as a whine. She knew Jane wasn't trying to push her buttons, but the angry words Daria had hit her with this afternoon were still stuck in her head.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. Look, I'll just shut up for a minute." Jane grinned again. "I got a beer to finish, anyway." She took a long drink. "So do you."

Comparative silence reigned until Jane finished and stood. "I'm getting another. You want?"

"I'm okay. I still have half of this one left." As she watched Jane walk into the kitchen, Quinn shook her head. _If only my high-school self could see me now. It's Saturday night and am I out on a date, drinking wine at a French restaurant? No, I'm sitting home, drinking beer with Jane Lane and wondering if I should save everyone some time and let Daria kill me now._

The offer to room with Jane had come as something of a surprise for Quinn. It had taken Daria all of three weeks as a freshman to decide that dorm life wasn't for her, but Raft rules required her to finish out the year. When Jane moved up to Boston in January, she lucked into an apartment. Her mother's friend's niece or something had needed a roommate for the rest of the school year―the last roommate had finished school in December and left for a gallery job in Austin, Texas. When Jane's roommate finished school, she left too, to backpack across Europe, an idea Quinn found disgusting. _I'd love to go to Europe, but not with one change of clothes._

Quinn had naturally figured that Daria would move in with Jane, leaving her to find a place for herself, unless she wanted to deal with what Daria described as, "mutant mystery meat that will make you long for Dad's kitchen sink stew." But Daria had found the one-bedroom in the next town and Jane had invited Quinn to move in. Jane had never said why she hadn't roomed with Daria, and Quinn hadn't asked. After all, the price was right, the place was convenient to the T, and Jane wasn't a bad roommate when she was around, which wasn't all that often. Quinn wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fresh beer in hand, Jane rejoined Quinn on the couch. "So why do you put up with Daria?" she asked without preamble.

"How can you say that?" Shocked, Quinn narrowly missed knocking over her own beer. "You're her friend."

"Yes. That's my answer. But sister's not the same as friend."

"Don't I know it." Quinn sighed deeply and downed the rest of her beer.

Jane said nothing, just waited as the silence stretched out. It started to feel like it was alive, alive and pushing down on Quinn. When the weight of it became unbearable, she blurted, "I want to understand her."

Like a light coming on, sudden knowledge filled her and the words came out. "We pretty much grew up apart. Even living in the same house, even sharing a room, we never talked, never showed any interest in each other. It's only in the past couple of years I've even tried to get to know her, and now I feel like she's this really weird movie with no plot, but maybe if I watch it over and over again I might figure out the littlest part of what happened. Being in the band gives me a chance to watch the movie again."

"So?" Jane gave a half-smile. "I don't understand my sisters, and it doesn't bother me."

"You can get away with it. The Lanes don't have any family expectations."

"Well, except for the Lane family reunion." Jane shuddered in memory. "Did Daria ever tell you about that? It was the same weekend you guys went camping and got whacked out of your skulls on psychotropic berries."

"Yeah, she did or you did. I don't remember." Quinn waved a hand dismissively. She didn't really remember the camping weekend at all. "You're never going to go back to the Lane reunion, though. The Barksdale women don't have that option. We'll get pulled into stupid family stuff, no matter what. Have you ever seen my mom and Aunt Rita together?"

"Daria's told me stories. Your cousin Erin's wedding, for one."

"I don't want that to be me and Daria in twenty years." Something new came into Quinn's voice, maybe equal parts sadness and resignation. "My mom says she loves Aunt Rita, but they fight like cats and dogs whenever they see each other. I want to be able to say I love my sister and know that it's true, and that we love each other because we understand and respect each other, not because we have to. And the band is the best way to spend time with her. When she isn't ready to kill me, anyway."

"There are easier ways, Quinn."

"You've been Daria's best friend for five years, Jane. Do you really think 'easier' is the right way to go with her?"

"Point." Jane laughed.

Quinn finished her beer and rose. "Look, it's been a long day, so I'm going to sleep. Thanks for listening."

"Any time, Quinn. Sleep well."

Much to her surprise, Quinn did.

Over the next couple of days, Quinn's mood lightened a lot. Getting back into the swing of classes helped―it always took her a couple of weeks to settle in at the start of a semester. So did her Friday night at work. She made more than enough to make up for her disastrous Wednesday, and got asked for her phone number by three guys. She hadn't given the digits to any of them―there was far too much going on in her life to keep anything like her old dating schedule―but it was nice to be noticed.

_Daria would appreciate the irony, if she ever thought about my dating habits, _Quinn thought as she counted her take on Saturday morning. She sighed, and gloom settled over her like a blanket. Today was the first GTS practice since their blowup on Wednesday, and Quinn wasn't sure what to expect. Daria ignoring or resenting her was easy to deal with, but Daria actually mad at her was totally unpredictable. _Well, it was a nice couple of days while it lasted._ She pulled on a pair of jeans and a tan top and headed out the door to catch the T, and headed over to Daria's.

Jane greeted her at Daria's door, in her usual outfit. In high school, Jane had favored a red jacket and black t-shits, but now she favored red t-shirts and black or dark brown pants. "Sandi's not here yet, and Daria's already downstairs," Jane said.

Quinn wasn't sure what to make of that. Quinn knew Daria often wanted to be alone when she was mad, but she also liked to be alone when she was happy, and at most other times for that matter. Wordlessly, she followed Jane, wondering what to expect.

They found Daria with the acoustic guitar over her knee, in jeans and a black t-shirt, similar to the outfit she'd worn to Alternapalooza all those years ago. Her face was creased with deep concentration as she fingered the strings. After a moment, she looked up, expression unreadable, at least to Quinn.

"Jane," Daria said quietly, "can you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Quinn."

Jane shrugged. "Sure. I'll come back down when the screaming stops."

Quinn gave Jane an unfriendly look, and noticed that Daria did the same. Jane grinned and headed up the stairs.

"Have a seat, Quinn," Daria said, her voice still quiet.

A little worried, Quinn grabbed a chair. For once, she truly had no idea what Daria would say. Her jaw dropped when Daria's next words were, "Look, I'm really sorry."

At Quinn's stunned silence, Daria continued. "About Wednesday. I had no right to lay into you like that."

"No," Quinn finally managed, "you didn't."

Daria digested that for a moment. "Touché, Quinn," she said, with her little smile, and Quinn started to calm down. _It's funny. Even though she's the most sarcastic person in the world, Daria's smiles are all genuine. She does it so rarely that she only has one._

"I thought about it and I realized I was out of line. It's not like you were making trouble just to make trouble. I should have listened," Daria added.

"Look, Daria," Quinn said, "I know you think I'm, what's the word..., frivolous, but I do have reasons for the things I do."

"I know you do," Daria returned. "I don't know why I decided you didn't."

"Maybe because old habits are hard to break," Quinn smiled, but knew there was an edge to it. Unlike Daria, she did have more than one smile. It would have been easier to just take the peace offering, but her words to Jane last night came back to her. _Easier is not the way to go._

"For both of us, I think," Daria said, all smiles gone. "You can take or leave the apology, Quinn. I don't care. I needed to say it, and it's done. But I also wanted to talk about what happened Wednesday."

"Why?" Quinn was suddenly uncomfortable. "It's over. I accept your apology, and let's get back to work."

"Sure, Quinn. But on what? We still have auditions in a week and we still don't have Roadrunner down." Quinn started to object, but Daria raised a hand, and Quinn stayed silent. "I know you don't like the song, but I've got a good feeling about it. I know it's pretty old, but like Jane said, it's a Boston tune. Not that many people play it, but lots of people still like it. And it's pretty catchy, so even if people don't recognize it, they'll probably dance along anyway. We get credit for being fun, without being predictable." Daria finished, and sat as if expecting something.

What seemed like years, or maybe a minute, passed. Quinn started to get nettled. "What do you want me to say, Daria?"

"I want you to tell me why you object to the song. Believe it or not, Quinn, I respect your opinion, so if you have good reasons for not wanting to do the song, we can talk to Jane and Sandi and come up with something else. But I need to know what they are."

Shocked, Quinn thought. "Well, you know, it's like...," she trailed off. The problem was, now that she was on the spot, she didn't really have a good argument. "I mean, I just don't think it fits my, you know, that thing, like style, but more..." Not liking the song wasn't going to be enough. "We're four girls, and the song is old, so the audiences won't... I mean, we won't... that is..." If she couldn't tell she was beaten by her inability to finish a sentence, Daria's smug expression definitely gave her a clue. She gave in. "All right, Daria, but if people don't react, we're pulling it right away."

"Whatever you say, Quinn," Daria deadpanned, and Quinn was amazed that she'd been outmaneuvered so badly. She liked hearing that Daria respected her opinion, but she also recognized the leverage that it gave her sister. Before she could consider the problem any more, the thump of boots told Quinn that Jane was coming back down. Sandi, dressed in a skort and top combination made up of several complementary shades of blue, followed. Quinn noted that Sandi now favored blues as the base for her outfits far more often than she had in Lawndale.

"Check it out, Sandi," Jane said. "No blood."

Sandi gave her a thin smile, one that Quinn recognized from the Fashion Club. _Now there's someone whose smiles are never real. I don't think I've ever seen Sandi smile just because she's happy. She's always sending a message._ Quinn wasn't sure what the message was this time, which made her uncomfortable.

Practice began and they rolled through the dozen or so GTS originals first. Since Sandi joined four months ago, their playing had become really tight. Her steady bass kept Jane, who liked to play fast, from falling out of time, but left room to add rolls and fills, which made the sound denser. Daria's economical leads were easy to hear but never got in the way, and Quinn could feel the strong rhythm section forcing her to find more power in her voice. To her ear, they sounded _good_. Like pros. She thought "Charmed Circle" sounded especially great, and "Wherever You Can Find It" was only a little behind.

Most of the covers sounded good too. It was just that one damn song. As soon as Daria began to count the time, Quinn began to tense. Her singing, which had been so effortless for most of the day, began to sound constricted. Halfway through, Daria called a halt.

"Aww...," Jane said, "We still haven't gotten to the good part yet."

"Quinn, what happened?" Daria asked. "That was awful."

Quinn gave Daria a glare. "Thanks so much, sis."

Daria ignored it. "You sounded great on all the other songs. We started 'Roadrunner,' and you suddenly sound like a bullfrog. What gives?"

Quinn didn't like the sudden look on her sister's face. "I don't know, dammit! I try to sing the stupid song, and it just comes out wrong." Anger and nerves combined to take over her brain yet again. "You know, it's like when you've got the perfect outfit, except for the shoes, and you're so self-conscious that it messes up the way you walk, and pretty soon, you're stumbling over every third step until you end up throwing the shoes in the sewer, and making someone drive you home." She ran down, and realized how silly she sounded. "Not that _I_ would know, of course."

"Oh, I believe you," Jane cracked. "Doesn't sound like the voice of experience at all." Sandi just looked smug.

"Fascinating sidelight, Quinn," Daria said, "but I don't see what it has to do with the damn song."

"Look, Daria," Quinn snapped. "I'm trying to tell you that the song doesn't work for me. It's like my body injects it or something."

"Rejects, Quinn," Jane murmured.

"Yes, rejects," Daria snapped, "which is what we're going to be if we don't get this song down. Sparing a glare for all of them, she added, "Try harder, Quinn."

Quinn glared right back, but before either sister could speak, Sandi jumped in, "Gee Daria, if you want 'Roadrunner' in the set so badly, maybe you should sing it yourself."

A shocked silence fell, as the tensions in the room suddenly shifted. Sandi didn't involve herself in petty details, especially not the set list. Quinn's eyes narrowed. _What's she up to?_ "I'm the lead singer," she started to say, but was distracted by Daria's simultaneous, "Quinn's the singer." The sisters shared a quick look before turning back to Sandi.

Indifferent to their glares, Sandi addressed Daria. "Look, Quinn's having a hard time with the song anyway, because it's too low for her voice. Maybe if she liked the song, she'd find a way to sing it, but she doesn't, so it's never going to work."

To Quinn's eyes, Sandi's smirk was unpleasant. A quick peek at her bandmates told Quinn that, for whatever reason, neither Daria nor Jane had noticed. Well, they didn't have Quinn's experience with Sandi. _It's weird, though_, Quinn thought. _She could have just let things play out. She _did_ stop us, when we might have had another fight. But she didn't look like she was doing us a favor._ As she thought, Daria made an "uh-huh" sound.

"So, if you're, like, intent on having us do the song, you're just gonna have to sing it yourself."

"Sandi," Daria said, trying to sound patient. "If Quinn's voice is too high for the song, what makes you think mine will be better? In case you've forgotten, I do high harmonies. You're the one with the deep voice."

"The song's spoken, not sung, Daria." Jane, forgotten for the moment behind her kit, jumped in. "And your speaking voice is right."

"So's Sandi's," Daria said, sounding annoyed.

If Quinn was any judge, Daria was starting to feel ganged up on. Sometimes that worked, like when she and Jane had convinced Daria that a fourth Girl was needed. If it didn't, though, Daria would eventually lose it again, and Quinn didn't want to deal with that for the second time in a week. She threw her sister a little support. "Yeah, Sandi. Your voice is better for the song than Daria's. Why won't you sing it?"

"I don't like it either." Sandi's smirk grew more obvious, leaving Quinn feeling like she'd been outmaneuvered again. And this time, she didn't even know how.

"And you didn't point this out before, why?" Daria sounded like someone trying hard to keep her temper.

"I care about playing, not about what we play." Sandi shrugged. "And your reasons make sense. If you think doing the song is a good idea, we should do the song." A faint accent on the 'you' told Quinn that Sandi was referring only to Daria. "After all, it's your band."

"That's a rotten thing to say, Sandi." Quinn said, recovering from her shock.

Sandi, focused on Daria, ignored Quinn

"Look, Sandi," Daria said, teeth clenching. "We all offer something, and we all need each other to make this work."

"Sure. Whatever," Sandi's eyes met Daria's. Her look was direct, challenging. "Are you going to sing the song?"

The question hung there, as Daria met Sandi's gaze with a cold expression. Quinn recognized that face on her sister. Daria was on a knife edge, wanting very badly to lose it and cut into Sandi but knowing it was important not to. With an effort―visible to Quinn, and almost certainly to Jane―Daria got control of herself. "Yes," she finally said. "I'm going to sing the song."

Quinn wondered if Sandi realized how close she'd come. _Probably. I bet she wants to see how far Daria can be pushed._ The grim predictions she'd made four months ago about Sandi wrecking the band for the sheer pleasure of it floated into her mind. _She's like her brothers. But Sam and Chris break things. Sandi breaks people. Of course, Daria's not very breakable. _Quinn knew her sister also didn't let things go, even if she had apologized today.

Daria's voice counting off the time called Quinn back to herself. "One, two, three, four, five, six..."

October's in Jefferson Square wasn't the nicest place Quinn had ever been in, but it wasn't a total dive either. The long bar extended back towards a raised bandstand, but there was space in between for a decent-sized dance floor. At least a hundred, maybe two hundred people could fill the space when a band was playing. Compared to the last place they'd auditioned at, it was a palace―a palace looking for a steady band for Tuesday nights. And Tuesday nights didn't conflict with either Daria or Quinn's work schedule.

Daria, standing in the doorway behind Quinn, said, "Well, it's not bad. It's not like our first gig was going to be at the Paradise."

Jane, to Daria's side, laughed. "It's no McGrundy's, but I could see us playing here."

Sandi, bringing up the rear, said nothing.

The heavyset man who had let them wore faded blue jeans over work boots and a buttoned flannel shirt. _Not quite a reject from Seattle,_ Quinn thought, _but not _far. He looked them over. "So, you're here to audition for the Tuesday night slot?" Quinn nodded slowly, and pale blue eyes under beetle brows flicked over her. "Well, at least you put a looker in front." Before anyone could register what he'd said, he turned and walked into the bar. "Well, come on in."

They followed him back to the stage. Sudden nerves gripped Quinn, and a quick look at her bandmates told her they weren't doing much better.

"Get yourselves set up," the owner said. "We can do all the introductions and chit chat after I hear you play. After all," he added with less than friendly chuckle, "we might not need to bother."

"Uh, sure," Quinn said. "We'll just get our stuff out of the van." She hurried out, to hide her nervous confusion. The other Girls followed quickly.

Despite their nerves, they set up quickly. All four of them understood that wasting the owner's time was a good way to blow the audition without getting to play a note, so over the last few weeks, they'd practiced setting up and breaking down almost as much as they practiced music. Quinn had thought it dull, but had to admit it paid off when the bar's owner gave a little nod at their speed.

They finished setting up, and the owner stood, arms folded. Seeing no indication that he was going to ask them to play, Quinn looked to Daria and then to Jane, who shrugged and began counting the time. They tore into "Charmed Circle," then rolled right into "Wherever You Can Find It." Quinn knew they were playing well, could feel the music moving her, but she wasn't sure they were getting across. The owner didn't change position at all; the music just rolled over him. As Jane's last roll died, he grunted, "Let's hear the covers."

The owner's disinterest hit Quinn like a lead weight, and she almost missed her cue in "Basket Case." She could feel the first verse fall flat, earning her a quick glare from Daria that she hoped no one else noticed. As the song roared on, she found her footing again. The power of the rhythm section filled her, and she fell into the song, her voice gaining confidence and power. They steamed through "Rock and Roll Machine" and "Helter Skelter," with Jane in a frenzy on the drums and Daria uncharacteristically bouncing around the stage wildly on guitar. "I've got blisters on my my fingers!" Jane shouted, and the music stopped. All three other Girls shot her a look.

"Sorry," Jane shrugged, an impish smile on her face. "Couldn't resist." Not for the first time, Quinn thought to herself that Jane's body was well-suited for shrugging. Her long arms caused her shoulders to roll just so, and the effect was very, very cute. If Quinn had Jane's look, she'd be sure to wear tank tops and shrug as often as she could. Quinn knew there was no way Jane would take this advice, but after her years in the Fashion Club, there was no way she could stop thinking it.

The owner was obviously unmoved by Jane's Ringo impression or her rolling shoulders. "You got anything else? Something that stands out a little, maybe?"

"We've got one more," Daria said, sounding a little annoyed. "Ready?" Quinn nodded back. So did Jane and Sandi. Daria counted out the time for "Roadrunner," and they were off.

Since Quinn didn't play an instrument and the song had very little harmony, at least until the end, she didn't have much to do except look good. So she danced along with the song, noticing that despite the weird lyrics and minimalist sound, it really did make her want to move. And Daria's voice did the song justice in a way hers didn't. As they hit the climax, Quinn began to get a good feeling, a feeling reinforced by the owner's tapping foot, the first movement he'd made since they started playing. By the end of the song, Quinn could see the man smiling, but he quickly hid it as the music stopped.

"Okay. Tuesday's yours. I'll give you a month at $100 a night. We can talk more if you stay past that. And no originals." All the Girls stared in shock, but it was Quinn he fixed with his glare. "Take it or leave it. I'm not negotiating."

Quinn, oddly flustered at being singled out, blurted, "We'll take it," just as Daria started saying, "We'd like to talk it over for minute." Daria glared, and Quinn wilted. "I mean, my sister's right. We'd like to talk for a minute."

"I'll be back in five minutes. You can give me your answer then." He headed towards the other end of the bar, but not before adding, over his shoulder, "The name's Tierney, by the way, Mike Tierney."

Almost before he was gone, Jane rounded on Quinn. "What the hell was that, Quinn?" she said, voice low but angry. "You think maybe the three of us might want a say before you open your mouth?"

The anger in Jane's voice wiped away Quinn's embarrassment and replaced it with annoyance. "Were you planning on turning him down, Jane? He's giving us a steady gig."

"At a hundred bucks a week, playing only covers." Jane retorted. "I'd like a minute to think about what we're getting into."

"We're getting into a gig, Jane. That's what we're getting into." Quinn could feel her skin going red with anger. "What's your problem? Is it because I said something first?"

"I think that's a different Morgendorffer's line, right Jane?" Sandi's voice was quiet, but even as angry as Quinn was, she couldn't miss the smirk on Sandi's lips.

Before Quinn could say anything or Jane could round on Sandi, a whip-crack voice barked, "Stop! All three of you, just stop." Quinn almost didn't realize her sister had spoken, as Daria hadn't used her 'I _will_ get my way, no matter what' voice in a very long time.

"We have four minutes to decide if we take this gig," Daria continued. "I don't care who said what. I want to know what you think we should do. What _all _of you think we should do," she added, sparing a cold glare for Sandi.

"Well," Sandi replied, unfazed by the glare. "What do you think, Daria?"

"I think we should take it," Daria said. "I want the experience, even if it's a disaster."

"What if he cheats us?" Jane asked. "I don't like being pressured, and that's what this Tierney guy is doing. And who's to say we're ever going to get to play our own stuff? I didn't get into this to be a cover band."

"Most of the other places didn't even offer to pay," Quinn countered. "They thought we'd be happy with the exposure. I'm with Daria. I say we take the gig and get the experience. If he screws with us, we know not to work for him again. And if it works out, we can build up a following. He'll be begging us for our own stuff."

"That's two for, one against," Daria said. "Sandi?"

Sandi nodded. "Whatever you guys want. After all, it's not much, but it's a paying gig."

Jane sighed. "I never said I was against it. I just said I wanted time to think."

"I know," Daria said, "and I'm sorry, but we don't have time, and it's three to one, so it looks like we're taking it."

"Looks like we are," Jane agreed, as Tierney came back. "I just hope we're not the ones who get taken." The rest of the discussion went quickly, and mostly without surprise, although Daria did get him to agree to paying them half before the show.

As they got in the van to head back to Daria's, Quinn realized she had a lot to think about.

She didn't have much time to think over the next couple of days, though. Between schoolwork and work-work, they went by in a blur, until before Quinn knew it, she found herself on Monday night sitting in a café in Jefferson Square sipping a mocha latte and waiting for Sandi, who was already fifteen minutes late.

_I really don't have time for this_, Quinn thought as she waited. She'd just decided to give Sandi another five minutes before finishing her latte and leaving, when through the store window, she saw Sandi hurrying up the street, several bags in hand. _Another blue outfit, _she thought aimlessly. _It does suit her, though not as much as some of the more vibrant colors she used to wear in Lawndale._

As Quinn's frown deepened, Sandi made her way to the table, her swinging bags just missing some of the other customers. "Sorry I'm late, Quinn, but I stopped to pick up a dress and three of the stores in the Galleria were having sales. You know how that goes."

"Sure, Sandi. I know how that goes." Quinn buried her irritation and took a sip of her latte. "So, what's up?"

"Well, I just wanted to, like, catch up." She sat and hailed a passing waitress. "Double cappuccino, extra cinnamon."

Quinn gave Sandi a curious look, which Sandi met with a sheepish smile. "I know we see each other all the time, but we never sit and talk. It's always play this, tune that, how do you want to arrange the other. When's the last time we had a real conversation about something other than the band?"

"The last week of High School. We didn't see a lot of each other over the summer." Quinn tactfully didn't mention the reason they hadn't spoken much.

"Well, don't you think it's time we did again?" Sandi looked up as the waitress brought her cappuccino. "Seriously, I feel like I don't even know what you've done for the last two years. Well, besides sing, of course."

"Like that's not enough," Quinn gave Sandi an arch look. "I also tried to play the bass, which probably wasn't such a good idea."

Sandi smiled thinly at the reference to her own position. "Gee Quinn, I'm just surprised you ended up in a band with Daria."

Quinn found the slight emphasis on Daria's name unpleasant. "She's my sister, Sandi."

"Not your cousin?"

"High School's over." Quinn gave Sandi a flat stare.

"Sorry," Sandi's expression didn't change. "It's just that you two never got along, and now you're, like, spending all your time with her and Jane. I'll bet you don't even keep up your old dating schedule."

"Do you?" Quinn asked. "Look, it was fun when we were in high school, but you grow out of things. Or into them," she added. "I've learned a lot these past couple of years. I know that I have to work hard to get the life I want."

"Just because of school?" The waitress placed a cappuccino in front of Sandi, who began to stir it absently, intent on Quinn.

"School's part of it. But there's my job, the apartment, the band. I still go out every couple of weeks, you know, to make sure I haven't lost my touch, but my priorities are different."

"I didn't know that waiting tables could be a priority." Sandi's face was all artless innocence, but her tone was cutting. "Couldn't your parents pay for your apartment?"

Suddenly uncomfortable with Sandi's questions, Quinn took a sip of her latte to gather her thoughts. She knew Sandi wanted something, but in typical Sandi fashion, she was being deliberately confusing, asking one question to get the answer to another. _If I know what she wanted to know,_ Quinn thought, _I'd know how to answer her. I'll bet she doesn't think I'll be honest, though, so maybe that's my best bet. Hiding one step behind where she thinks I'll be may throw her off._ "Well, it's kinda hard to explain."

"Oh?" Sandi raised an eyebrow and sipped her cappuccino.

"Well, I probably could guilt them into covering for me, but I don't think it's the right thing to do. I want to be in control of my life. As it is, they still pay for college, but I have my own place, that I pay for with money I earned, and it makes me feel independent and more ready for the real world. Otherwise, I'd be dependent on them even after I got out of school. I might even end up back in Lawndale. Brr..." Quinn shuddered at the thought.

"What about the band? You're not in control of that."

"But I'm not dependent either, Sandi. The band needs all of us to make it work." Quinn let a little irritation touch her voice.

"Oh, I think I understand. Jane and I and you and your sister are equals." Sandi sipped her cappuccino, but Quinn thought she saw the hint of a smug Sandi smile, the same one she'd worn when she was about to maneuver Tiffany and Stacy into blabbing about Quinn's neck zit back in high school.

_Shit_, Quinn thought. _Whatever Sandi wanted, I just gave her. I just wish I knew what it was._ She decided to turn the tables on Sandi. "So," she said, "you still haven't told me why you're in Boston. Last I knew you were going to Lawndale State to major in marketing." _Right before you blew me off because I got into a real design school, _she didn't add.

"Oh, you know," Sandi's voice was cool. "Plans change. I decided school wasn't for me."

_You flunked out, you mean._ "I'm surprised you didn't stay in Lawndale for a while, or head to New York to look for your big break."

"My aunt lives up here," Sandi said. "Boston's not as fashion forward as New York, but it's better than Lawndale, or even Baltimore. My aunt's cool, so I thought I'd see what life was like someplace less lame than Lawndale before I decide what to be."

Quinn was sure there was more to it, but she knew better than to push Sandi. "So," she changed the subject, "have you heard from anyone back in Lawndale? I know Stacy's still going to Lawndale Community, and she's been dating the same guy for almost two years. Not someone from Lawndale High; I think he went to Oakwood, or maybe Fielding."

Sandi shook her head. "I haven't heard from Stacy since college started. I'm not surprised, though. She was never cutthroat enough for the popularity game, so finding a nice guy was only a matter of tine." A wicked smile suddenly lit her face. "I know what happened to Tiffany, though. She's married. To a much older man. Regular little trophy wife."

"No!" Quinn gasped. "Anyone we know?"

Sandi's smile grew even more evil, if that was possible. "How about Charles Ruttheimer, Jr."

"You mean she's," Quinn's voice rose with every syllable, "Upchuck's stepmother?! You're kidding me.'  
"I swear on my old official Fashion Club scrunchy," Sandi managed, before having a fit of giggles. Quinn soon joined her. For the next half hour, they chatted about old places and familiar faces, as if they'd always been the best of friends. Later, Quinn reflected on the weirdness of her relationship with Sandi―one minute competing in a game that made one of those games like _Risk _that Daria used to play look like tic-tac-toe, the next laughing like the best of friends. She knew Sandi had won tonight, so she would be extra-careful until she'd evened the score.

The next day, just after three in the afternoon, Quinn stood in front of her sister's door, wondering whether to knock. The Girls had agreed to meet at five for a quick run through the set before loading up the van and heading for the bar, and Quinn wasn't sure how, or even whether, Daria would welcome her two hours early.

The decision was taken out of her hands when the door swung open. Daria's dress sense had improved since high school. The skirts had gotten longer and shirts fit better. She still favored green, but softer shades. The outfit was a bit too librarian for Quinn, but she had to admit, it suited Daria very well.

If Daria was surprised to find her sister on her doorstep, she gave no sign. "I'm sorry, but the this week's meeting of Fashion Anonymous has been canceled. If you want, we can organize a field trip to Wal-Mart, though."

"Dar-i-a," Quinn said, drawing out all three syllables, something she usually tried not to do. "I'm not here to talk to you about fashion. It's not like I have so much free time that I can afford to waste it trying to do the impossible, like that guy with the rock."

"Then why are you here?" Daria asked.

After a long moment, Quinn sighed. "I need someone to talk to."

Daria looked her over for a long moment before speaking. "Well, I was just heading out to the supermarket, but it can wait until tomorrow."

She turned and Quinn followed her up the steps and into the apartment. As she headed into the kitchen, Quinn threw herself on the couch grabbed the TV remote.

"So," Daria said, as returned with two drinks and handed one to Quinn, "shouldn't you still be in class?"

"Well, you know." Quinn said, in her best vacuous Quinn voice. Now that she was here, she suddenly wasn't sure what she wanted to talk about. "My last class for the day is over."

Daria, of course, was having none of it. "If memory serves, it ends at 3. It's now 3:15, and your campus is 45 minutes from here by T."

Quinn sipped her drink. "It's nice of you to keep diet cola for me, Daria. I know you don't drink it, and Jane doesn't either."

Daria fixed her with a hard glare. "Spill, Quinn."

"I did cut my one o'clock," Quinn said with a sigh. "I just couldn't concentrate. It was like there was a voice in my head saying, 'Tonight's our first gig,' every minute. My first two classes were disasters. I mean, I got called on three times, and I wasn't close on any of them. Once I answered for the other class, and once I started talking about the band, and I knew I had to escape, so I got an early lunch, a nice salad with a fat-free vinaigrette―Bagel-Bagel does a good one, for a chain bagel store―and walked around for a while―"

"Quinn," Daria interrupted, "I don't need the entire itinerary. I just want to know why you came here." She frowned, but added after a moment, "Not that I mind."

"Well, I figured you'd know what to say to calm me down. After all, nothing gets to you."

"That's not quite true, Quinn."

"Oh?" Quinn smiled slightly, "I'll bet you're not nervous about tonight."

"Well, no," Daria said.

"See?

"Actually, I'm scared shitless."

"Daria!" Quinn wasn't sure if she was more shocked at the admission or the language.

"Well, why wouldn't I be?" Daria sounded a little impatient. "The last time I played music in front of an audience was 'Pop Goes the Weasel' the summer after fifth grade. You remember how well that went."

"I enjoyed it," Quinn said with a smirk.

"Because you were laughing at me. Mom and Dad and all the other parents had to polite."

Quinn had the grace to look sorry―a little bit. "That was a long time ago."

Daria sighed. "Look, Quinn, I know it's not the same. For one thing, I can actually play. For another thing, it's not just me. There are four of us, and I know we sound good, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about. But every time I think that, in the back of my head I hear 'hum hum HUM-HUM hum.'"

"I can see that. But I know you. You're not going to let it stop you."

"Of course not." Daria said, "I may throw up before we get on stage, but I'm still playing tonight."

"Ewww... Daria."

"Don't worry. I promise not to get any on you... as long as you don't annoy me." Quinn saw her sister's Mona Lisa smile and knew she'd been gotten. She stuck her tongue out at Daria, who chuckled.

"And Quinn," Daria added, all smiles gone, "I know you're not going to let it stop you either."

Her sister's bald statement gave Quinn a warm feeling inside. She knew Daria wasn't one to sugarcoat things or lie to make anyone feel better, so for Daria to simply say that Quinn wouldn't fail meant more to Quinn than a hundred pep talks. "Uh, thanks, sis."

They talked quietly for a while longer, chatting amiably about nothing. Quinn liked the sense of closeness the conversation brought―something she worried she would never feel around Daria. Her relationship with her sister wasn't exactly like her relationship with Sandi, but it was still complicated and they still didn't entirely understand each other. The whole "Roadrunner" blowup proved that. But still, they were trying to get along, and mostly doing a good job.

Quinn gave her sister a fond smile as the TV started playing the _Sick Sad World _theme. "Okay. But I get _FashionVision_ after this is over."

"Deal," said Daria, as they settled in to wait for Jane and Sandi.

At five to eight, Quinn let herself indulge in one more fit of panic. The amps and drums were already on stage, but the band was downstairs, waiting to be told they could go on. Jane was sketching away, while Sandi thumbed through a _Waif _magazine she'd brought, and Daria sat quietly, lost in thought. Quinn sipped at a diet soda and looked from face to face, silently screaming. _I can't do this. I can't. I can't. What the hell was I thinking? There's no way. I wonder if I could make it to the back door. Would Daria kill me if I ran out now._

A voice interrupted her terror. "Five minutes, girls," Mike Tierney said from the top of the stairs. _Five minutes. What do I do?_

"Is everyone ready?" Daria asked.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. _"Yes." _Look at me. I'm Quinn, the little liar._

"Whatever," Sandi said with a shrug. Quinn knew Sandi wouldn't show any weakness.

"If by ready, you mean terrified," Jane said, "then I'm ready, amiga." Quinn found Jane's remark, and Daria's answering smile, comforting.

"Okay, then," Daria said, after a moment. "Let's grab our gear, head upstairs, and blow their socks off."

"Whatever," Sandi shrugged again.

"Better watch out Sandi," Jane said. "All that enthusiasm might tire you out, and then you won't be able to play."

Sandi bared her teeth. "I'll manage."

Quinn looked over to Daria, wondering if they should interrupt. Daria didn't seem too concerned, though, so Quinn decided to take her sister's lead. _I seem to be doing that a lot lately. But she's gotten us this far._

Jane and Sandi lapsed into silence and the next few minutes crawled by. "It's time," Mike said from the top of the stairs. Daria and Sandi grabbed their instruments, and the four girls filed up the stairs. _Too late to run now, _Quinn thought, and seconds later found herself on the stage staring out at a small sea of faces, some curious or even intrigued, others bored or actively hostile to the noise that was going to ruin their conversations. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch, and all the fear and worry... was suddenly gone. _We're going to do this! And we're gonna be good, dammit!_

As Daria and Sandi finished plugging in, Quinn stepped up to the mike. "We're Girls Together Sarcastically. And we're gonna knock your socks off!" Insistent guitar chords signaled the beginning of "Basket Case," and off they went.

As Jane let the cymbal wash die, the hundred or so people in the bar gave a happy cheer. Quinn smiled down, enjoying the sound. Sure, most of them were pretty drunk, and they weren't tearing the roof off, but they weren't booing or throwing bottles, which was a good sign for their first paying gig. She addressed the mike, "Before we go, we'd like to do a local favorite for you." She turned to Daria, "Ready, sis?" Daria nodded in return, "Ready, sis." Quinn turned back to the crowd, "You've been great. We're Girls Together Sarcastically, and this is 'Roadrunner.'"

Daria counted off the time, "One, two, three four, five, six," and banged out three chords―BAM! BAM! BAM!―as Jane hit the drums in perfect sync. The crowd greeted the sound with their loudest roar of the night―after all, this _was_ Boston. The music, simple but powerful, surged as Daria half-spoke, half-sung Jonathan Richman's paean to Massachusetts, modern music, and the joys of cruising to the Stop and Shop with the radio on.

"Me in love with modern rock & roll/Modern guys and modern rock & roll/Don't feel so alone, got the radio on/Like the roadrunner," she said, and raised her arms, letting Sandi and Jane carry the music for a couple of bars.

"Jane Lane on drums," Daria shouted, and the crowd roared. Jane smiled as her sticks moved in time, almost too fast to see.

"Sandi Griffin with the bass." Sandi didn't even acknowledge the words, standing stock still as she had all night, though her fingers flew.

"Quinn Morgendorffer singing lead." The crowd roared again as Quinn shook her long red hair and the beat kept going. With an arch smile, Quinn grabbed the mike and pointed to Daria, "And Big Sister Daria Morgendorffer wailing lead guitar."

Daria dropped her arms and banged out the song's signature chords. "And I'm in love with modern music," she sang, "with the radio on." The music once again roared to fever pitch. "What do you say, Girls?"

"RADIO ON!" Quinn and Sandi sang in harmony, heads bobbing in time to the chords, as Daria continued, "I got the FM…"

"RADIO ON!" The crowd was really getting into it, as Daria improvised lyrics about the "rockin' neon streaming sound," to go with the original "modern Massachusetts sound."

"RADIO ON!" One last repetition as Jane went nuts on the drums and Daria spoke the song's famous and appropriate coda. "Right! Bye, bye." Quinn found the crowd's full-throated roar to be quite satisfying. _We're on our way. Now, let's see how far we get._

**Author's Note:**

Well, here's fic number two in the GTS series. "Roadrunner" (from which the story's title is adapted) is by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, who could sort of be considered a protopunk band insofar as they fit any categories. Jerry Harrison from Talking Heads was a Modern Lover. The song was recorded in 1973, though not released until 1976. As the story says, it's weirdly minimalist, but very catchy. If you haven't, I suggest checking it out. I don't know that it be a big hit with Boston crowds, but given that Jonathan Richman still plays here every year, it's not outside the realm of possibility.

Many thanks to my beta-readers, Brother Grimace, Scissors MacGillicutty, and Richard Lobinske, who helped me better capture the characters' voices. Without their help, this fic would be a lot less fun. Look out for installment #3 before the end of June (I hope).


	4. Clashing Colors Everywhere

**Clashing Colors Everywhere**

by Dennis

"Look, I really don't want to discuss this," Daria Morgendorffer said as she reached for her guitar. "Let's just play. We're getting really close with 'No Light Shines.'"

"No dice, Daria," said Jane Lane behind her drum kit. "We need to talk about this. Before we play." Daria had avoided this conversation for several weeks, and Jane was damned if she was going to let Daria slip by again.

"Yeah," Quinn Morgendorffer said, "We need to talk about this, and we need to talk about it now. We've let it slide for way too long."

"I don't see why it's so important," Daria grumbled. Jane could see the subtle changes in Daria's face that indicated extreme irritation.

"Daria," Jane said, "Like it or not, performing music live is a visual medium, too. If we're going to catch people's eyes, as well as their ears, we're going to need a look."

"We look fine now," Daria said.

"Shyeah. Whatever, Daria," Quinn snorted. "Right now we look like four teenagers playing in someone's garage. There's no harmony. Our outfits should complement each other, like our voices."

"Well, most of our voices," Jane laughed. She was no singer, and she knew it, but she did love to beat the skins.

"So we're back to outfits now, Quinn?" Daria snapped. "We going to turn the band into a little makeover party?" Ignoring Quinn's hurt look, she whirled on Jane, "And why are you going along with this? I thought you took this seriously."

"She does," Sandi said. "So does Quinn. They know that if we want to get anywhere, we have to be visually appealing." Her eyes bored into Daria's, and a cold sneer suddenly crossed her lips. "I'd like it if we could each maintain wardrobe autonomy, but _some _of us," the emphasis on some told Jane exactly who Sandi was talking about, "can't be trusted, so we need a unified look."

For just a second, Jane saw the irritation in Daria's face cross into raw rage, but with great effort, she mastered herself. Somewhat. "Fine. If we're not going to play, I have better things to do than stand here and be insulted for not playing dress up." She whirled and headed for the stairs. "Feel free to let yourselves out."

With a snarl, Jane whirled on Sandi, while Quinn started in shock at the open door to the stairs. "What the _fuck _was that about?"

Totally unperturbed, Sandi smiled. "Do you think we could work on the rhythm for the new stuff? Even without a guitar, we can get something done."

With great effort, Jane managed not to kick over the bass drum or toss her sticks at Sandi's head. "No. We're going to discuss why you thought you could get away with setting Daria off like that."

"Actually," Sandi said, voice icy, "we're not. I told Daria something she needed to hear. How she took it is, like, not my problem. Now, we can play, or Quinn and I can talk about our outfits. Or I can leave, because Daria's not the only one with better things to do than be cross-examined."

Jane could feel the tension between her and Sandi almost like a line of force connecting them, and she wasn't sure what to do. It came as a relief when Quinn said, in a small voice. "Uh, guys, I think we should just go. We're not going to get anything done."

Without a word, Sandi packed up and headed out. After a second, Quinn followed, leaving a puzzled Jane perched behind her kit. _What just happened here? _After a long moment, she gave up and followed her bandmates.

Jane was still thinking about their disastrous rehearsal three hours later. Sketchbook on her lap, she sat in Boston Common watching the crowds pass in the twilight. Normally, at this time on a Friday she would have been there anyway, or if not on the Common, on the Esplanade by the river or someplace else where the peace of nature contrasted with the hustle of the city, giving her artist's eye a chance to catch an unusual combination that might light the spark that filled another canvas.

This semester, both Quinn and Daria had early classes on Fridays and then worked in the evening, which made it an ideal day for early rehearsals and evenings of art. Today, though, Jane was too preoccupied with the disaster at rehearsal to even think about artwork. She knew Daria would be difficult about buying into a group look for the Girls, but she hadn't counted on her tearing into Quinn, or Sandi throwing fat on the fire. _Damn Daria anyway. Why does she have to be so... Daria?_

Jane knew she was being unfair. The band was originally her idea, true, but even then she knew that Daria would end up the de facto leader. While it was true that Daria was a wallflower and had to be pushed to do things, once she took them up, she had the will and the skills to make them happen. Hell, if it wasn't for Daria, Jane wouldn't be in college, much less in a band. But the same tenacity that made her able to get things done could also make her a tremendous pain in the ass when things didn't go her way. Quinn and Jane between them had usually managed to offset Daria in the beginning, but the addition of Sandi Griffin ten months ago had totally thrown the band's equilibrium out of whack.

_It's funny, _Jane thought. _She's exactly what we need, musically. We're so in sync when we play, but so far out of it the rest of the time._ Sandi had her own agenda and her own point of view, and it didn't mesh with any of the other Girls, not even Quinn. Far from falling into the old friendship, Quinn watched Sandi like a hawk, fearing she'd sow chaos just for the fun of it. _And I always thought _I_ was the nihilist._

Today was a perfect example. Between them, Quinn and Jane might have pinned Daria down about the clothes. In the six months they'd been playing at October's, they'd built up quite a following, but to take the next step, they had to get more professional, which might mean a manager, and would certainly mean a new look. Daria wasn't stupid and would see it, with a little prodding, but now that Sandi had dropped the nukes, it might take Jane and Quinn weeks to talk Daria around.

Jane sighed. Whatever she was going to do about Sandi and Daria, she wasn't going to get it done sitting in the Common. And if she wasn't going to be drawing, she'd rather be inside. With March around the corner, it was starting to warm up, but that just meant that sometimes the temperature broke freezing. She decided to head to a gallery she knew in the South End and ambled off toward the T.

Painting away, Jane didn't notice it was after midnight. She'd been in the throes of creativity for over four hours. The gallery had cleared her head, and by the time she got off the T at Crestmore Square, a painting had begun to take shape in her mind. The ten-minute walk home had given the image time to solidify so that when she walked in the door, she headed right to her easel. Without interruption, she could likely finish in another hour.

Three quick knocks on her door broke her concentration. "Dammit, Quinn! What is it?"

"Bad time?" Quinn asked, as she opened the door and poked her head around.

"What the hell are you doing home so early?" Jane did not take interruptions well.

Quinn looked confused. "Jane, it's almost one."

"Oh." Jane spied the clock radio out of the corner of her eye. '12:47' shone back at her. "Sorry, Quinn. I got on a roll and lost track of time. I didn't think you'd be home for another hour or so."

"Whatever," Quinn shrugged. "Sorry I interrupted you, but I think we should talk about the designs tonight. We've got another rehearsal tomorrow, and I wanna have something more convincing than, 'Well, Daria, I still think we should do this, so calm down and maybe Sandi will stop being such a bitch about it.'"

Jane chuckled, "No, no. Let's just go in cold. I'd love to hear that conversation play out." She let her voice fall into a monotone. "I'm not going to listen to this. I don't wanna play dress up, and that's final." Miming tossing her hair, she continued in a bad faux valley girl voice. "Like, what do you mean by that Ku-winn? Maybe you think you could be a better bassist and all around pain in the ass that me."

It was all too much for Quinn, who started laughing. Waving her hand for Jane to stop as she tried to get control of herself, Quinn finally gasped out, "Are you going to do me and you, too?"

"I don't think so," Jane sighed. "Right now, we're the sane ones." Her mouth quirked upward in a characteristic half-smile. "Strange as that may seem."

That sobered Quinn immediately. Turning away, she said, "I like the painting Jane. Even though it's, what's the word..., abstract? It pulls you in. The colors are compelling, and they balance each other. It's hard to tell right away, but the longer you look, the more sense they make."

"Thanks, Quinn," Jane said, surprised and touched. She thought about the first time Quinn saw her art, when Daria and Jodie had gone to Grove Hills, and Quinn had shown up on her doorstep. Quinn's reaction to her art had been less than supportive, and her own to Quinn had involved fantasies of a guillotine party with Quinn the guest of honor. "I guess we've all come a long way," she murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing," Jane said quickly. "I'm glad you like it. Not everyone gets the way I use color. I've had problems with it at school."

"Well, I think it's cool. Do you think we could base some designs off it?"

"Maybe posters," Jane said. "I don't think Daria's ready for something this off-the-wall."

"You're probably right," Quinn added. "And Sandi loves _haute couture_, but to her, _avant-garde _is something you get on the menu at a good French restaurant. Maybe something a little less... daring."

"Well, I can come up with some simpler schemes fairly quickly," Jane said, amused at how well she and Quinn could work together when they needed to. Heck, even as roommates. She'd had her misgivings when Daria asked her to live with Quinn, but everything had worked out well. She wasn't around often enough for them to get on each other's nerves, and Quinn didn't keep her old dating schedule, which reduced the likelihood of Jane walking in on an embarrassing situation. Jane herself preferred to go to a guy's place if she were interested in him, though such liaisons were few and far between.

"And I can coordinate them to outfits," Quinn said, enthusiasm rising. "Then we can run them by Sandi after rehearsal tomorrow, and maybe we can have something by early next week."

Jane was fairly sure Quinn was being optimistic, but she didn't want to ruin the moment. Wordlessly, she begin roughing out a color scheme, while Quinn made approving noises. They worked far into the night.

Rehearsal the next day was at 2, but Jane had told Quinn she wanted to get there early and talk to Daria. Quinn had offered to come, but Jane had declined, figuring that conversation would go better without any Fashion Fiend presence. Thus, shortly after noon, coffee in hand and much the worse for lack of sleep, she stood on Daria's doorstep. She rang the bell and took a long slug of the coffee as she gathered her thoughts.

Talking Daria around wasn't going to be easy, Jane knew, but she also knew that she had the best chance of doing it. Daria respected Jane's knowledge of visual media—mostly her art, but it was usually Jane who picked the movies for both good movie nights and bad movie nights. Fashion design was a visual medium too, although one Daria didn't respect. _Just think_, she thought_, if only I didn't hate Fellini so much, Tom and I might be married now. But just because I prefer Bergman, he ended up kissing my best friend. C'est la vie._

After a moment, the doors opened, showing Daria. "Fancy seeing you here," she said. "Still not a morning person, I see."

"Lay off, Daria," Jane glared. "I was up late last night."

Daria's eyebrow arched behind her glasses. "Find another stray?"

"Painting and talking to Quinn."

"Oh." Daria turned, and Jane followed her upstairs into the apartment. Taking another swig of her coffee, she grimaced."Hey," she asked. "You got any coffee on?"_  
_Daria shrugged as she walked through the door. "No, but I can have it ready in five minutes."

"Good," Jane said, as she took a seat on the couch. "Your coffee's drinkable." _I gotta find a better coffee place_, she thought, as Daria busied herself in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with two mugs in hand. "I know you like it black," she said, as she handed a mug to Jane and sat down. The aroma hitting Jane's nose was a wind from heaven. _Divine wind, _she thought, as she grabbed the cup and took a sip._ Well, this could end up a kamikaze mission. _

Jane was grateful that Daria allowed her a few minutes to commune with the coffee, enough time to drain the cup and help herself to another one, before breaking the silence. "So, what brings you here? Rehearsal's not until two."

"Can't a girl come over to spend some time with her primera amiga?" Jane asked.

"She can," Daria replied, "but not when it requires her to be up and moving before noon."

"You know me too well."

"Yes, I do. And given your more-than-semiconscious state and Quinn's absence, I'd say you're here to beard the Misery Chick in her den about matters sartorial."

"This is only my third cup of coffee, Daria," Jane smirked. "Save the verbal gymnastics for the next time you tell off Sandi."

Daria gave Jane a black look. "You're here to talk about the band's look."

Jane nodded and sipped her coffee.

"Well, don't expect me to make it easy on you," Daria said.

"Of course not," Jane said, and drank some more coffee. She finished the cup and got herself another, letting Daria stew all the while. It wasn't until Jane was halfway through that cup before Daria finally burst out. "What I don't get is why you're involved in this. I can see Quinn and Sandi wanting to dress us up, but you're above all that nonsense."

_Gotcha,_ Jane thought. "It's not nonsense. It's about drawing people's eyes. We present a unified concept in a visually exciting manner to develop associations and help people remember us."

"Isn't that what the _music_ is for?" Daria's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You're so cute when you're naive, Daria," Jane laughed, knowing it would annoy Daria, but also push her off balance. "Look, our music is good, and it's going to get better, right?"

Daria just glared.

"But that's true of dozens of bands in the Boston area alone. If all we want to do is stay in Boston, then we can just rely on the music. We might even make a living, but I'll bet we have to get day jobs and just play nights and weekends. If we want to make things work, we have to offer something in addition to the music."

"Like our bodies?" Daria sneered.

"Like strong visual imagery, Daria." Jane sighed. "Look, this isn't about letting Quinn and Sandi put us in clothes they think are fashionable, or about slutting ourselves up. It's about finding a way to draw attention in a crowded field, so that more people will want to hear us."

"Look, Jane," Daria said after a moment, "I'm not trying to be a jerk about it, but I just don't get it. They're not there to see us; they're there to hear us. I mean, if we were actresses, maybe, but this all sounds so stupid."

Jane sighed heavily. For someone so intelligent, Daria could be incredibly thickheaded sometimes. "It doesn't have to be stupid. It can be as smart as you want it to be. There's all sorts of visual symbolism that can be applied, as subtly or as overtly as you want. Our images can represent the four seasons or the four elements. Or they can just be four ourfits that fit well together. But we're not going to get anywhere without an image. No one has."

Daria looked thoughtful for a minute, and then shook her head. "Why don't you and Quinn talk to Sandi about this? It's much more her speed than mine."

"What makes you think we haven't?" Jane asked. She knew the answer, but decided to let Daria off the defensive.

"If you had, you wouldn't be here," Daria said. "No point in getting up early when Sandi would just insist on having the same conversation again with all four of us there."

Jane let Daria enjoy her moment of being right, then responded. "We will talk to Sandi. We're going to want her input." At Daria's raised eyebrow, Jane added, "And yours. All four of us should be in on this."

Daria looked troubled. "Why? You know I have no aptitude for this. I like green; I wear green. That's about the depth of my fashion experience."

"It's not fashion, Daria. It's visual design," Jane sighed again.

"I'm not a visual person," Daria said.

"You don't have to be. Trust me."

Daria gave Jane a long look. Jane waited, knowing either a concession or an angry outburst was coming. "I do trust you," Daria finally said._ Concession. Good. That'll make things easier._

_"_Look," Daria continued, "talk to Quinn and Sandi, and I'll do what you want. Just don't expect me to help. It's not my thing." With a Mona Lisa smile, she added, "And make sure I'm not naked up there."

_Well, it's a start._ Jane settled in to wait for the others to show up. "Is there any more coffee?" At Daria's black look, she just laughed.

Quinn and Sandi arrived together, and the four Girls headed downstairs to rehearse. The guitar, bass, and drums set-up had be joined by a Hammond keyboard, Quinn's addition. Jane had been surprised by Quinn's initiative. She knew Quinn had hated playing bass and singing, but Quinn was slowly but gamely mastering the keyboard, allowing the Girls to try some more complex arrangements.

One of these was "No Light Shines," a minor key song with a grinding, dirge-like guitar. When the band played it for the first time, five months ago, it had a slow, plodding feel, like a cut-rate Nirvana song (something Mystik Spiral might play). Daria had confided her disappointment to Jane after the rehearsal.

"They're some of my best lyrics, but some of my worst music," Daria had sighed.

Jane had tried to cheer her friend, but to no avail. "We're never going to be able to play it in front of people," was Daria's last word on the subject.

The addition of a keyboard had resurrected the song. In the new arrangement, the keyboard had freed both guitar and drums to be more expressive. Quinn played simple repetitive chords as a rhythm line in tandem with Sandi's bass, allowing Daria's guitar to slash through the song rather than carry it. Jane, in turn, could concentrate on picking spots for fills to drive the song, rather than laying down a simple 4/4 beat.

They played "No Light Shines" straight through, and then walked through it again more slowly, stopping every so often to fix problems, like where the instruments were out of balance or where the transition from verse to chorus was flat. Although Daria wrote the songs, the arrangement process was often very democratic. One of them would raise an arm, and everyone would stop playing to listen to the complaint and, if necessary, talk about how to address it. It was a simple system, but very rarely had any breakdown. Musically, the Girls were usually on the same page—or at least in the same book.

After working their way through the song, they played it once more straight though. Jane noted that during the verses, Quinn had very little trouble staying in time on the keyboards as she sang. Even now, some slight changes crept in. Daria took a stronger solo, while Quinn keyboards dropped out, allowing more focus on the guitar. At the end, they were all smiling, even Sandi.

"Well, I think we're in good shape with that one," Daria said after catching her breath.

Jane smiled from behind the kit. "Yeah. That one's going to be fun to play. The bass and keyboards do all the work, so I have room to have fun." Drumming was always a blast, but she loved when she got to play around the beat, instead of on it. It gave her room to improvise, freeing her artistic side.

Sandi gave Jane a thin smile, "Glad I could help, Jane." Turning to Daria, she added, "It does sound good, though. I really like the stronger solo. The guitar isn't, like, disappearing anymore."

"Thanks, Sandi," Daria said, "but don't forget it was Quinn's idea to not play the keyboards over the solo. I think that helped a lot."

Quinn, still getting a drink for her throat, only smiled and nodded.

After a short break, they did a few covers and then ran through some of the other originals: "Charmed Circle," "Wherever You Can Find It," "Hard World," "Through My Eyes," and a raucous instrumental with no name that Daria insisted on calling "Fuck Off and Die." To Jane's ear, their playing was crisp and professional sounding. _Now all we need is a look to match the sound._

After they finished, Jane grabbed a towel from her perch on the drum kit to wipe away the sweat, and waited for the rest of the band. She wanted Daria to stay for the conversation, but she'd settle for getting Sandi on board. And sure enough, Quinn was guiding Sandi back to the rehearsal space. Jane turned to look for Daria, but she'd slipped out.

"Where's Daria," Quinn asked, a little nervously.

"Upstairs," Jane said. "I think she ducked out."

"So she still doesn't want to talk about our look?" Sandi's voice held a measure of contempt.

_Contempt is definitely something she's mastered_, Jane thought, before shrugging. "She says she'll wear what we tell her as long as she doesn't have to participate. I'd like to get her more involved in the process—"

"So she won't shoot us down as soon as we have something finished," Quinn muttered. Sandi gave a thin smile.

Jane ignored them. "But for now I think we can move ahead. We can work out how to sell her on it later."

Sandi nodded. "Okay. So Quinn and I can, like, get to work on this stuff, and let you know what we come up with."

Jane drew a sharp breath, but before she could speak, Quinn said, in the diffident voice she'd perfected over long years of dealing with Sandi, "Actually, Jane's already designed a color palate for us to work from, and she and I have done some preliminary sketches. Of course, we didn't want to go further without your input, Sandi, so we'd like you to take a look and tell us what you think."

Jane didn't think she'd ever seen an expression before like the one on Sandi's face, combining shock, irritation, confusion, and maybe a little disappointment. _And to think, I've been after Daria__to explain 'nonplussed' to me for years. I think I've just seen it._ "How does that sound, Sandi?" she asked.

"Sure. Whatever." Sandi's voice was flat.

Jane had reduced the colors from her painting to a circular design almost like a pinwheel. At each of the four cardinal points of the compass was a color—red at north, pink at south, green at east, blue at west—and each color dissolved into a swirl of shades and hues, conflicting and contrasting, but never quite clashing. It was an eye-catching design, if she did say so herself.

"Like, what's this supposed to be?" Sandi snapped.

Jane bristled at Sandi's tone, but tried not to let it show. "It's just what Quinn said, Sandi: a color palate. We can use the shades for whatever we want—outfits, posters, lighting—as long as we use shades that don't clash."

Sandi waved an arm dismissively. "They all clash."

"No," Jane said, biting off each word. "They don't. They draw the eye. Which is what they're supposed to do."

"It's _avant-garde_," Quinn supplied, in her perkiest voice.

"It's ugly," Sandi said. "I'm not surrendering wardrobe autonomy to," she tossed her head and poured on the sneer, "an amateur."

Blood suffused Jane's normally pale face and a red haze fell across her eyes. "I am not," she snarled, "a fucking amateur." At that moment she wanted nothing more than the wipe that expression off Sandi's face, preferably with the edge of an X-acto knife. It looked like she'd have to settle for fists, though.

As Sandi backed away, Jane lunged, but was impeded by pressure on her arm. She whirled and heard, as if from a great distance, Quinn's urgent, "Oh shit! Sandi, you'd better go." Fist ready to strike, Jane saw that Quinn, not Sandi, was now her target, and with an intense effort got herself under control. "Bad move, Quinn," she grated as she lowered her hand. "I nearly knocked you on your ass."

"I know," Quinn whispered, eyes wide. "But I couldn't let you hit Sandi."

"Sticking up for your friend?" Jane asked, dripping bitterness.

Quinn nodded, hurt in her eyes. "Sandi probably wanted you to hit her. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction."

The residual anger drained from Jane, replaced by shock. Quinn had never said anything like that before. "I'm your friend?"

"Duh, Jane," Quinn sounded almost disgusted. "Right now, I'd say you're my closest friend."

"What about Sandi?" Jane was deeply confused. Quinn was a means to an end and a sometimes ally. She wasn't someone Jane willingly spent time with, much less wanted as a friend._ Yeah, that's why you live together and talk to her more than you talk to Daria. That's why she's the one who understands your artwork_. She almost missed Quinn's response.

"In case you missed the last eight hundred times I told you, I don't trust Sandi."

"And Daria?"

Quinn gave a sad little smile. "Sister's not the same as friend, Jane."

Her own words thrown back in her face made Jane smile. "Touché, Quinn." She started to laugh, dispelling the rest of the tension. "Damn perceptive Morgendorffers. Come on, friend. I see Sandi took a minute to grab her bass. Let's see if she got while the getting was good. If not, I think I can look at her without punching her face in."

Quinn didn't look reassured, but she smiled at Jane and led the way up the stairs anyway.

They found not Sandi, but Daria in the living room, calmly sitting and enjoying a soda. "Gotta work tonight, but you're welcome to grab a beer if you want." She gestured toward the fridge. "So things didn't go well." It wasn't a question.

"How'd you guess?" Jane found Daria's flippancy annoying.

"Sandi stomping out was my first clue."

"Well," Jane snapped, "maybe if you hadn't ducked out like a hobo dodging a bar bill, we could have kept her there."

She could see real irritation creeping into Daria's face. "I told you that's not my thing. I had nothing to add, so I had no reason to stick around."

Before Jane could respond, Quinn raised a hand. "Daria, what did Sandi look like when she left? Was she just mad?"

A puzzled frown crossed Daria's face. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"Just try to remember. Trust me."

Silence spread as Daria thought. Jane, despite her annoyance, found herself very interested. "Well, she was definitely angry," Daria began. "It's easy to tell when Sandi's angry," she added.

Jane smiled slightly as Quinn motioned for Daria to continue.

"I'd say she was a little frightened; I've seen that look on her face before." She gave Jane a Mona Lisa smile. "Remember when Quinn dressed up as me?"

Jane grinned at Quinn's nettled look. "Yeah. And Sandi tried to talk to you, and couldn't say a word."

Daria paused again, looking thoughtful. "I think that's about it, Quinn," she finally started, before stopping again, surprise lighting her features. "Now that you mention it, underneath the fear and anger, she looked almost... satisfied, like she'd just put down Stacy or managed to put one over on you."

"I knew it!" Quinn said, jumping up. "I thought there was something off about that conversation."

"Wait a second!" Shock broke through Jane's mind like a wave. "Are you telling me that was a put-on? That Sandi did that on _purpose?!_" Her voice rose in anger on the last word.

"Yes," Quinn said triumphantly, before confusion painted her doll face. "Well, sort of."

Daria gave her sister a sardonic look. "Care to give us some idea what you mean, Quinn?"

_Uh-oh,_ Jane thought. _Here comes the verbal flood_. She wasn't disappointed.

"Well, it's not that she did it on purpose. I think she really was mad, like the time we got stuck in the Payday, and she was mad at me for bringing us there and at Stacy for talking about her pants, but even when she's mad, she's still pretty careful about what she says, so she probably decided that since she was so mad, she may as well see how mad she could get you, Jane, and it worked, and now she knows she can push you, and she'll probably do it again, because that's what Sandi does." Quinn finally wound down.

"So let me get this straight," Jane said. "Sandi's messing with me to see how I react." At Quinn's nod, Jane added, "Why?"

"That's what she does," Jane," Quinn said, sadly. "She plays with people like they're toys. And she breaks a lot of toys."

"No. I mean, why me?" Jane sounded puzzled and annoyed. "Why not you or Daria?"

"Uh, Jane," Daria said. "I think she already had a go or two at me. Remember Roadrunner? And what she said to me earlier this week?"

Quinn nodded, "And she's had years to mess with me. I guess it's your turn now."

"Lucky me," Jane twirled a finger in the air in a mocking gesture. "So what do I do about it?"

"Don't you mean what _do we_ do about it?" Daria asked, voice sardonic. "We're supposed to be a band, aren't we?"

Jane shot her friend a look of mixed gratitude and irritation. "If we're supposed to be a band, why weren't you downstairs before?"

For a moment, it looked to Jane like Daria was preparing a crushing retort, but after a moment and a deep breath, she calmly said, "Point taken, Jane. So what do we do about Sandi?"

The silence that fell grew and stretched. Jane could imagine it spreading, filling the entire room. As she met Daria's eyes, she felt, rather than saw, Quinn shift uncomfortably. Daria met her gaze calmly, the lenses of her glasses like twin mirrors, unreadable. She seemed to be waiting, as if something needed saying, but Daria didn't want to be the one to say it.

It was Quinn, finally, that leaped into the breach. "You mean, should we kick her out?"

Jane whirled at the words, to see a deadly serious, if somewhat scared, expression on Quinn's doll face. Turning back to Daria, she read the confirmation. That was exactly what they were talking about. Despite wanting to kill Sandi less than fifteen minutes ago, Jane was uncomfortable with the sudden turn. "Don't you think this is a little...," she trailed off.

Expressionless, Daria said, "This is what Sandi is like, Jane. Quinn tried to warn us, and we went ahead anyway. Now we have to decide if we can live with it."

Quinn nodded. "I can take bass again until we find another. I know I'm no good, but it won't take as long as the first time. We've got a reputation now."

"One slip, and you're seriously considering kicking her out?" Jane's voice was painted with shock. "Have I slipped through the rabbit hole? Because this all seems as mad as any hatter."

"You asked what we could do about her, Jane," Daria voice bored remorselessly. "This is what we can do."

"She's not going to change, Jane," Quinn added, with her own chill. "Sandi doesn't do change."

Looking between the Morgendorffer sisters, Jane felt trapped, as if between dangerous spirits. A sudden image of Daria as many-headed Scylla and Quinn as once-beautiful Charybdis rose in Jane's mind, but she squashed it. Throwing her arms in the air, she half-screamed, "Doesn't the music mean _anything_?"

"Of course it does," Daria said, and dwindled until she was once again Daria, with her flat expression and her wise eyes hiding behind the glasses. "But you've said it yourself. She's so in turn with us musically, and so out of tune with us in every other way."

Quinn, once again merely the pretty princess with her hidden depths, nodded. "If the music is worth the conflict, we'll keep her."

"But this time, you'll have to decide, Jane," Daria added. "Quinn and I both think you're the one who'll bear the brunt."

For Jane, it wasn't even a question. She had no love for Sandi, but she was more than a little unnerved at the speed with which Daria and Quinn had turned as one on her. Besides that, as a drummer, Jane had never felt so in tune with another bassist as she did with Sandi. Musically, they could do anything. As far as the other stuff, they would manage. "Of course it is," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Like her or not, Sandi is the perfect bassist for the group."

"Okay then," Daria said, as Quinn let out a breath, whether in relief or irritation, Jane couldn't tell. "Now all we have to do is make sure Sandi still wants to be in the band."

Jane chuckled weakly, relief coursing through her after that strange confrontation. "Yeah. Sandi's exit was pretty dramatic. You may have to pick up bass anyway, Quinn."

"I doubt it," Quinn said. "You'll know when Sandi's ready to leave."

Jane and Daria gave Quinn matching quizzical looks.

"When Sandi's ready to leave, there won't be anything left." With an enigmatic smile worthy of Daria, Quinn let herself out.

Confusion settled over them like a blanket. For a moment, neither moved. Jane looked at Daria. Daria looked at Jane. Simultaneously, they shrugged and smiled. _That's life_, Jane thought. "We've got time for _Sick, Sad World_ before you have to go to work, right?"

"Sure," Daria said, grabbing the remote. The familiar logo popped into view as the announcer declaimed, with his usual urgency, "Fine dining for massive mammals! But will they need a crate of wine with that? Hungry, hungry hippos, next on _Sick, Sad World!_"

It was Tuesday evening, and still no one had heard from Sandi. As usual, they'd gathered at Daria's to load the van, wondering if they still had a bassist. Quinn had called Sandi's cell twice, but gotten voicemail both times, so they simply started without her and acted as if she would show up.

As 7 o'clock, their usual departure time, drew near, Jane began to get nervous. With most of the loading done, she took to scanning the streets for the familiar trim, blue-clad figure._ Be quite the joke if after what I went through to keep her in the band, she dropped out on her own. Daria'd love the irony. And Quinn..., I think Quinn would just love getting rid of Sandi._

Turning, she noticed Quinn emerging from the basement stairs carrying an unfamiliar case. She walked over to see what Quinn was carrying.

"Well," Quinn looked down at what was clearly a bass guitar. She looked faintly apologetic. "I figured, you know, just in case..."

"Just in case what?" a familiar deep voice shot.

"Sandi!" In her shock, Quinn dropped the case she was carrying.

The relief that flooded Jane immediately gave way to misgivings. Sandi stood in the driveway, bass case in hand, surveying the scene with her usual disdain. _She's got to know we weren't sure she would show. How's she going to react?_

It was Daria who broke the silence with her usual aplomb. "Nice of you to join us, Sandi. Find a way to get out of the loading?"

A look of irritation crossed Sandi's face, and she raised a hand as if to wave it away. "I've been running errands, and I got held up."

Daria quirked an eyebrow. "Since Saturday?"

"Look, I'm sorry I was late, but I've, like, been busy." She gave a heavy sigh. "But I'm here and I'm ready to play."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Daria gave a Mona Lisa smile. "Put your stuff in the van, and we'll get going."

As they got in behind Daria and Sandi, Jane exchanged a quizzical look with Quinn. She found the conversation between Daria and Sandi strange, and she was sure Quinn did too, especially Sandi's heavy sigh. _Sandi's not one for sighs or introspection. I wonder what's going on in her head._

It was Daria's turn to drive, so Jane settled into the driver-side rear set. At Jane's suggestion, and to her amusement, they'd gone the Mystik Spiral route with the van. It was black and large, and ate gas, and Quinn and Sandi were both mortified to have to drive it. They had opted for better quality than Max Tyler, though. The van had actual seats, enough for the whole band, and a roadie or two if they ever needed them. The locks even worked, and they'd chose not to go with an Early Trash and Rotting Food motif, with the result that the van also smelled much better than the Tank.

Actually, Jane had offered to decorate the van, but she'd been turned down, with Daria delivering the _coup de grace _in her most withering style, "It's not that you might decide to emulate Pollack's style, it's that you might go for the Electric Mayhem's." As _Muppet Movie_ references were widely held by all right-thinking people to be one of the ultimate argument enders, Jane had never raised the subject again.

Daria got them to Jefferson Square with a minimum of difficulty. The unloading and set up for the show were second nature, and the butterflies had almost died in Jane's stomach. The details around a gig that had so intimidated them six months ago were now routine, mundane even, but not the show itself. That was still magical.

They kicked off with the thrashing drum intro of "Charmed Circle." Jane loved when the opening song started with the drums alone. It gave her an incredible sense of power, like this musical monster awoke at her command. The owner, Mike Tierney, had been letting them mix in a few originals over the last few weeks with the covers the crowd had come to hear, and the fact that it was their music that she heralded with the drums simply added to Jane's feelings of power.

Smooth segues into "Rock and Roll Machine" and a sped up "Blister in the Sun" kept the crowd moving. There were at least twice as many people in the crowd as there had been the first night they played, a tribute to the Girls' growing popularity. Thrashing away, Jane felt the connection between the band and the crowd, the way the music fed the crowd's energy and the crowd's energy pushed the music. Daria called it a feedback loop. Jane didn't bother the name it, she just loved it.

In a surprising place of honor at the beginning of the second set was the new "No Light Shines." Quinn slid behind the keyboards for the third time that night, and Sandi's steady bass took center stage. Jane had been worried that the song wasn't ready yet, and she was right. Though she flailed away gamely, the song had a rough, unfinished feel that contrasted poorly with the precision of their more familiar material. The crowd's energy waned until the band kicked into "Helter Skelter," which got everyone revved up again. _Ah, well_, Jane thought, as her sticks flashed. _Not an auspicious debut, but we'll get it worked out._

Surging adrenaline carried Jane from song to song as they rolled through more covers in the second set, before finishing up with "Wherever You Can Find It" and the now-traditional "Roadrunner." Jane still felt a thrill when they reached the end of the song and her name was called. She acknowledged the crowd with a nod as she kept pounding, playing around the beat rather than on it as Daria shouted, "What do you say, girls?" and Quinn and Sandi responded with calls of "RADIO ON!" until Jane wound up the song, and the show, with a quick roll.

Once again, they left the stage to cheers. Meeting them on the stairs, Mike congratulated them on another successful show, and handed Daria a wad of bills. Although he'd doubled their pay in line with he size of the crowds, two hundred bucks split between four of them didn't go a long way.

As they headed to the basement for a breather before breaking down, Sandi offered Jane the opening she needed. "Like, when are going to start making real money doing this?"

Jane couldn't believe her good fortune when it was Daria who responded. "When we start getting gigs at bigger clubs, so we can get them bidding against each other."

_Now I've got them both_. "Which we're not going to get until we put together some posters and promotional stuff. Which we can't do until we decide on a look and design to pull everything together."

"We talked about this, Jane." _There's that look again. Nonplussed. Except this time it's Daria._ "Do what you think is best. I trust you."

"Not good enough." This from Quinn. "This stuff is important, and we all need to be on the same page."

Jane nodded. "We're going to be using this stuff, or working from it, for years. We need to get it right, now."

Hands on hips, Sandi raked Quinn and Jane with a glare. "And how do you expect to get it right without input from your most fashionable members."

With great difficulty, Jane mastered her rising anger. _For this, I kept her from getting kicked out?_ "We're not going for fashionable, Sandi. We're going for eye-catching."

"And we asked for your input," Quinn added, "but you wouldn't give it to us."

"Fine," said Daria. "But this isn't the time or the place."

"When is?" Quinn shot back.

"Tomorrow."

"Before practice," Jane added, enjoying the cornered look on Daria's face.

"Before practice," Daria conceded, after another moment.

Both Jane and Quinn gave Sandi a long, level look. After a moment, she caved, though in typical Sandi fashion, she threw a cat among the pigeons, muttering, "Well, if _Daria_ will do it, so will I." Both Morgendorffers shot her a look. "Before practice." she added, unperturbed.

Just then, feet sounded the at the top of the stairs. "We may not get the chance," Jane muttered, turning her attention away from Sandi to the clatter of what could only be Mike Tierney's descent. Sure enough, the thickset owner of October's burst into the small room.

"Good show," he said, a little out of breath from the run down the stairs. "Look," he added after a moment. "I just lost my Saturday night regulars. If you want it, the job's yours."

Identical expressions of shock crossed the faces of all four Girls. As Jane recovered, her eyes shifted to Quinn, who'd blurted out their acceptance of Tierney's original offer to play here before the group had a chance to consider it. This time, Quinn met Jane's eyes resolutely before turning to Tierney, even as Daria and Sandi still stared. "We'd like a few minutes to talk about it."

"Sure thing," the big man said. "Oh, and if you've got any posters or anything, I'd like to start putting them up now. After all, you'll need to draw much bigger crowds." With that, he disappeared up the stairs.

The four looked at each other again. It was Daria, Jane noted, who finally broke the silence. "It's a prime slot, but it's still not that big a place. Do we take it or wait for something better?" _She might let Quinn play the public face_, _but when it comes to band business, she always takes the lead._

Surprisingly, Quinn and Sandi were both silent, Sandi looking thoughtful and Quinn looking back and forth between her sister and her roommate. Jane got the feeling Quinn and Sandi were both waiting for her—to agree with Daria or stand up to her, she wasn't sure. Taking a deep breath, she jumped in. "I say we go for it. If we take the Saturday slot here, we can get a weeknight at a bigger place and work our way up there."

Quinn nodded slowly. "Some of the places over in Middletown Square have space for a thousand people."

"If the money's right," Sandi finally spoke up. "What Jane says makes sense, but I'm not doing Saturday nights for, like, fifty a gig minus gas money."

"We haven't hit the big time yet, but I think we can talk him up to $500 a gig. I've seen him get four hundred people in this place on a Saturday night." Daria gave her a Mona Lisa smile. "That's at least a hundred bucks a person, after gas."

"Fine," Sandi nodded. "But where are we going to get posters."

_My lucky day._ Jane grinned a manic grin. "In the van, Sandi."

Sandi whirled, another shocked expression on her face, only a split second ahead of Daria. Only Quinn was unperturbed, but then Quinn had known what Jane was up to.

"It's not like I was going to stop working on this stuff. I did some poster designs at home and printed up a dozen or so at the school's print shop." The twin expressions of shock on Daria and Sandi's faces just made Jane's grin wider. "That is the point of having an art school student in the band, right?"

"Laugh it up, Lane," Daria finally said. "But I'll have my revenge when you least expect it. Now let see those posters."

"Right away, your Highness." She gave Daria a mocking bow before meeting Quinn's eyes, which were laughing though her face was expressionless. "Five to one," Jane said aloud as she ran up the stairs and turned right for the back door and the parking lot instead of left for the stage, "Daria grills Quinn while I'm gone for not telling her about the posters. Sandi might even help."

Quickly, she popped open the van's back door, grabbed her bag, and extracted the rolled up posters. She headed back to the bar, and down the stairs in time for what sounded like one last, "You could have told us." _Right, as usual_, she thought as she entered.

"Well?" Daria and Sandi chorused, before giving each other strange looks. Jane gave another mocking bow and unrolled the posters.

They were clearly based off the same color palate from Jane's original designs. Although various shades of purple seemed to be most common in the wash of color, giving an almost psychedelic feel, no one shade or color dominated. The font in which the band's name was printed didn't look particularly appropriate for psychedelia—the letters were much too sharp, for one thing—but neither did they sink unnoticed into the design. The whole thing was unconventional, hard to classify, and strangely arresting.

Before anyone could say a word, Mike Tierney clattered into the room. He considered the posters for a long moment. "I like 'em," he said, nodding. "They'll draw the eye," he added before looking at Quinn with an expression fairly screaming, "Well?"

This time Quinn looked to Daria. "Five hundred a night," the elder Morgendorffer said baldly, "against ten percent of the door take."

Watching Tierney, Jane had a feeling he was intimidated by the hard faced woman in front of him. Hell, she intimidated Jane sometimes too. Sandi, with her airs, was a poser. Daria was the real thing. Tierney seemed to think so too. At least he didn't try any posturing. "Three hundred against five percent."

"Five hundred, no door," Daria said.

"Deal." the big man sounded almost relieved. "You start two weeks from Saturday. You can play the Tuesday, too, or not. Just let me know next week if you don't want it." With that he disappeared up the stairs.

Jane ignored Quinn and Sandi, laughing and hugging in celebration of their new status, and watched Daria shift uncomfortably. She knew she didn't have to say anything, so she didn't. "Fine," Daria broke down. "Tomorrow. Before practice." The three words were admission, complement, apology, surrender, and thank you rolled into one.

"That's our Daria," Jane said and smiled, no longer mocking.

In the end, they played the Tuesday. As Daria said, "We can always use the practice." And that's what they did. The entire first set was their own stuff, the dozen or so songs they'd worked up, including "Fuck Off and Die," as the raucous set closer. As a reward for those who stayed through the whole first set, and the six months before, the second set was the most popular covers, closing with "Roadrunner" again. But everyone, especially the Girls, knew that Saturday was the big show.

They'd pulled together the new look without too much difficulty. Once Sandi had understood what Quinn and Jane were going for, she'd been a big help, softening the colors and making the outfits more accessible, while still unusual and attractive.

Not that the sailing was totally smooth. Daria had shocked the others by rejecting a pants and long coat ensemble as, "Too conservative." With some asperity, she'd added, "For fuck's sake, Jane, I won't even be able to play in that." Eventually, they'd gotten everything squared away, and managed to scrounge the actual clothes.

Even Sandi agreed they couldn't get brand names. She'd been able to get most of the stuff they had to buy new at tag sales and outlets, while Jane tracked down other things at thrift shops and other secondhand stores. Quinn, a little miffed at being left out of the shopping, worked with Daria on arrangements for "No Light Shines" and some of the other new songs.

And now, here they were on Saturday night. From behind the drum kit, Jane estimated there were at least three hundred people in the crowd in front of them, many who'd never heard GTS before. It was a critical gig for them; if they couldn't hook people's interest, Saturdays would be gone, and they'd be right back where they started or worse.

Looking at her bandmates, she knew they'd managed the visual part. All the outfits were deceptively simple, a few shades and tones that worked well with each other.

An off-the-shoulder pink shirt covered most of Quinn's white tank top. It was a definite nod to the '80s, but instead of hot pants and high hair, Quinn's long locks were mostly unstyled, relying on natural bounce, and her pants, while flattering, had an elegant cut that prevented the whole look from collapsing into trashy ZZ Top video chickness.

Elegance was also Sandi's watchword. One-piece dresses weren't usually considered good stagewear, but Sandi had argued, rightly, that she was in the John Entwistle style of bassist—she didn't really move at all, preferring to let the action (and the music) swirl around her. Thus, when Sandi came back from one of her expeditions with several short, stylish dress that blended shades of blue in interesting ways, Jane knew that she would not be shifted. And Jane wouldn't have wanted to—after all, one doesn't get to be President of the Fashion Club without knowing how to dress.

Daria, of course, refused to surrender her glasses—though she had opted for more stylish frames since the band began—so they built her look out from there. Daria insisted she didn't mind the high collar on the brown mock turtleneck she wore, as long as the fabric was light, which it was. Over that she wore a blouse open at the neck, the soft green contrasting both with the brown and her forest green skirt. Although the skirt was below knee length, it hugged her hips quite nicely, keeping her look from skidding into dowdiness.

Jane herself had opted for what looked like a simple black leotard (shades of the 80s again) as the base for her outfit. It was only with a closer look, or the help of stage lights, that the subtle pattern of reds and browns became noticeable. The pattern played very nicely off the short red skirt and open top she wore.

Quinn had bought into the contrast and Sandi the subtlety (and the wardrobe autonomy she'd wangled for herself), while Daria loved the symbolism. The four elements—Quinn as Air, Daria as Earth, Jane as Fire, and Sandi as Water—were there, but so were Quinn the tease, Jane the wild child, Sandi the lady, and Daria the woman. And underneath it all, they were who they were. Mercurial Sandi in blues that seemed to shift and blend in fighting for dominance, breezy Quinn in her bright colors, solid Daria not drawing attention, but finding it nonetheless. And Jane herself, deceptively calm at times, but a whirlwind of subtle changes when moving. They each had their role, Jane knew, and hers was to bring the fire, the thunder that gave the band its energy.

And now it was time. Their time. When Daria raised her arm, Jane kicked the bass drums to open "Blitzkrieg Bop" and felt, along with the rush of power, a sudden surge of rightness. They had the look and they had the sounds. And soon, they'd have this audience eating out of their hands.

**Author's Note:**

Finally, fic number three in the GTS series. The title is adapted from "She's a Rainbow" by the Rolling Stones. Many thanks to my beta-readers, Brother Grimace and Richard Lobinske.

**Disclaimer:**_Daria_ and all characters are copyright MTV 1997–2002. I own nothing and am merely along for the ride.


	5. Closets Are for Hangups

"I don't know, Daria," Jane Lane said from behind the drum kit. "That's an awful lot of time changes for one song." Sandi Griffin, although she agreed with Jane, said nothing as usual.

"The time changes are meant to reflect the lyrical shifts." Daria Morgendorffer sighed, as she strummed aimlessly at her guitar. "That's why the song is called 'Shards.'"

"We get what you're trying to do, Daria," Quinn Morgendorffer said. "But I don't think it works with what we're doing. I mean," she laughed, "can you imagine playing this in front of a bar crowd in Crestmore Square?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Quinn, but I can't help what I write," Daria snapped. "If I'm going to write a break-up song, I'd rather challenge the listener than do the usual gloppy, I-can't-live-without-you crap that most people do."

If pressed, Sandi would have said she agreed with Daria. She just wished Daria had picked a better fight. Daria was damn prickly about her songwriting, though—something Sandi could sympathize with. _Oh, well_, she thought. _Maybe I'll finally get an opening._

Jane, at least, seemed to be doing her best to give Sandi that opening. "Daria, no one's telling you to write like everyone else. Hell, there wouldn't be a point to the band if you wrote like everyone else. But sometimes, you have to admit the idea doesn't work, and I don't think the amount of music or lyrical ideas work with the way we play right now." Of course, Jane's support wasn't intentional. Sandi's relations with the rest of the band weren't good enough that she would confide in any of them.

"Fine," Daria snapped. "What do you think, Sandi? Since Jane and Quinn both hate the song."

Sandi smiled inwardly. She had the opening she wanted. Her mother's words suddenly rose in her mind. _Go hard or go home_. Linda had been talking about sales. _I suppose this is a sales job, too_, Sandi thought.

"Jane and Quinn don't hate it, Daria," she said, deep voice calm. "I do, though." Ignoring Jane's low whistle and Quinn's gasp, she continued. "It's all 2/4, 3/4, 4/4. I don't see the point of all those changes when there's, like, nothing musically interesting going on. Frankly, it's a mess."

"Oh, so it's a mess?" Daria's voice was dangerously flat. To outsiders, it might seem hard to differentiate the tones of Daria's voice, but after a year in the band, Sandi had gotten quite good at it. "What about the other songs? Are they messes, too?"

Sandi shrugged. "No. I think 'One in Every Crowd' is one of the best songs you've written, and 'Don't Take It Out on Me' is nearly as good. But those are the only songs you've written in the last two months. I think you could use help with the songwriting."

"Oh, I can, can I?" Sparks flew in Daria's narrowed eyes. "And I suppose you have a candidate for this role?"

"Not a candidate," Sandi said. "A song. It's called 'My Eyes.'"

"Uh, Sandi," Quinn said, in the voice she used to defuse conflicts, "I think maybe this isn't the right time for this."

_I hate that fucking voice, _Sandi thought. _She used to use it on me all the time. Like I didn't know what it was for. "_Sorry, Quinn," she almost snarled, "but I disagree. I think this is a great time. And I want to hear what your _sister_ thinks." Sandi had long since learned it was pointless to attack Quinn over her relationship to Daria—which was why she saved it for special occasions.

Expecting an explosion, Sandi was disappointed. Daria merely shut down. "You know, I don't want to discuss this right now. We're about done anyway."

"Whatever." Acknowledging the dismissal, Sandi grabbed her gear and hurried up the stairs before Jane could attack her again for challenging Daria.

She was surprised to find Quinn on her heels, though she didn't speak to the other girl until they emerged into the early afternoon sunlight. Friday rehearsals started around noon to accommodate Daria's work and class schedules. "Someplace to go?"

"No reason to stay," Quinn responded, ignoring Sandi's tone.

Sandi didn't respond immediately, but she slowed her pace enough for Quinn to move alongside.

"Well, that could have ended better," Quinn said, attempting to sound friendly.

"Could have ended worse. At least I got my point across." Sandi shrugged. _Let her chew on that._

"Thank goodness for small favors, anyway." Quinn said, her smile a bit crooked.

Sandi raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that? I thought you were in Daria's pocket."

"I like most of her songs," Quinn said, again ignoring the cut. "But she can be so stubborn. Sometimes you really have to whack her across the face to get her to realize a song is just bad."

"So why bother?" _If I can just get Quinn going,_ _maybe she'll spill something useful in the flood._

Quinn gave her an odd look. "I'd rather sing stuff I'm excited about. If you don't like the music, it's just another job. And I've got one of those already."

"So you don't mind being Daria's voice?" Sandi asked.

"Why would I? She doesn't mind being my brain." She turned and looked around. "You parked around here? Cos the T's just up the block, but I'll walk you to your car if you want."

"Uh, no," Sandi said, dismissing the offer coolly. "Actually, I'm heading past the Square to meet a couple of friends." She gave a fake smile. "I guess I'll be, like, fashionably early for once."

Quinn shrugged. "Have a good time," she said and crossed the street, quickly disappearing from view.

As soon as Quinn was gone, Sandi headed toward a coffee place she liked. She wasn't actually meeting friends, though. _Unless you count decaf cappuccino as a friend, _she sighed as she slid into a favorite booth. Sandi had a hard time making friends. Linda Griffin had encouraged her daughter to have followers, not friends, and even though Linda no longer had a place in her life, Sandi still struggled to undo her mother's influence.

She sat for a couple of hours, sipping cappuccino and thinking about rehearsal. Daria's reaction to her criticism of "Shards" wasn't surprising—after all, Sandi had been pretty harsh. But Daria's reaction to the mention of the song was surprising and bore further consideration. _Does she see me as a threat? It's possible, I suppose. But wouldn't Quinn have said something?_ When Quinn followed her out, Sandi had expected her to offer sympathy, or at least say something useful. But Quinn had remained carefully neutral and not said much of anything.

_I suppose I shouldn't be shocked, _Sandi thought. _She hasn't said much of anything to me since I joined the band. _She still caught herself in unguarded moments wondering why she'd joined a band with some of her least favorite people. _Of course, right now, my least favorite people includes most of the world. _Realizing she wasn't going to figure it out then and there, and that she'd hadn't touched the cappuccino in over an hour, she headed for the door, leaving behind enough bills to cover the check and a hefty tip.

She hopped in her purple Vexer—one of the few indulgences left from her Lawndale days—and headed home. It was too early to be in on a Friday night, but more and more she found she just couldn't deal with the bar scene. She had no problem getting in and she usually drank for free, but getting propositioned by guys with ten or fifteen years on her was too much of a price to pay._ Most of them don't even want a date, just a quick fuck. Like I can be had for new wine and old pickup lines._

She actually lived only one town north of Daria, so she was home in less than ten minutes. The brick-and-paneling two-family house belonged to her aunt, but she had the upstairs apartment to herself. She wasn't thrilled about being dumped off here with her father's older sister, whose own children has scattered to the four winds years ago, but she knew it could have been worse. _I could have been stuck in Colorado with Mom's brother and his bitchy daughters_, she thought as she unlocked the front door. _I've got an apartment, and my aunt leaves me alone._ _Just like my parents and brothers do. _She sighed and lugged the bass up the stairs to her door.

The apartment wasn't much, two rooms off a small central foyer with a bathroom across from the front door. It did have a full bath, which she often took advantage of, though she was a little too unsettled to do so tonight. Instead, she put the bass away and threw herself on her bed. The decor in her bedroom was minimal—a full sized bed with light blue comforter, a fine wooden armoire her aunt had given her, a small desk, and a hope chest. The wooden floor screamed for a rug, but she hadn't bothered. Even though she'd been here for almost eighteen months, the Boston area still felt like a pit stop on the way to her real life.

None of the band had ever been here, and she was just as happy to keep it that way. Every so often she had a chuckle at the thought that she was so close to them, especially Daria, and they didn't know where._ Who am I kidding? I'll bet Daria's known where I lived since three days after I joined the band._ _But as long as they don't break the illusion,_ _I won't. _It wasn't so much Daria and Jane, although she had her issues with both of them. Quinn was a different story.

Bad enough Quinn had gotten into New England School of Design, when Sandi had ended up at Lawndale State. But explaining to Quinn what had happened since then was way down on Sandi's list of things to do—right under "shave head, gain thirty pounds, and join cult that wears only shapeless brown robes." _Of course it's still three slots above "make up with Linda," which is part of what I don't want Quinn to know about_.

Not wanting to dwell on that too-familiar pain, she headed into the other room, where the entertainment center and, more importantly, her musical instruments lived. Grabbing her acoustic guitar, she began to play simple rhythm lines and let her mind drift. She'd really only taken the offered audition to see Quinn squirm. But they sounded _good _together, something she hadn't been a part of in a long time. With her father's encouragement, Sandi had progressed from the cello in elementary school to guitar and bass in middle school, until Linda had put her foot down.

"But I like fashion and music," middle-schooler Sandi said.

Stone-faced, Linda glared at her eldest. "I told you to pick one thing and be the best at it. If you do a little of everything, you do a whole lot of nothing."

"What if I like music more?" Sandi asked. At thirteen, she was almost eye-to-eye with her mother, though the few inches seemed like miles when Linda was in this mood.

Linda's voice went even colder, if possible. "Guitar is not appropriate for a young lady. I don't know why I ever let your father encourage you."

"We have fun," Sandi almost whined. Her father was nowhere to be found. Linda must have cowed Tom before confronting Sandi. Divide-and-conquer was a common strategy in the Griffin house.

"Fun isn't important, Alexandra. What's important is that you have a bright future ahead of you. Fashion can open a lot of doors for you, doors I expect you to walk through. There's a Fashion Club in Lawndale High. I expect you to be the President by sophomore year."

Sandi grimaced as the memories faded. She'd bested her mother by becoming President during her freshman year. _For all the good it did me. Fashion didn't open as many doors as Linda shut, or I wouldn't be working retail. _Gradually, the rhythm lines formed into chords in a familiar progression, the opening of her song. "My Eyes" was simple, but very melodic, and she felt the Girls could give it an arrangement that added power without losing melody. _If Daria will ever let me play it. _She messed around with the chording for awhile before setting aside the guitar for the television.

On Saturday, an ugly surprise awaited her. Whacking the alarm with an angry fist, she dragged herself out of bed for the 9 AM shift at work. As usual, she got ready as quickly as possible, while still taking time to coordinate her outfit. After all, looking good was part of her job. Working at a Cashman's outlet in a suburban mall did have its points—she could have been working at J.J. Jeeter's—but she would much rather have been shopping there.

Even when she was busy, her shifts tended to drag, since she wasn't really suited for her job. She knew her stuff, of course, and had a keen instinct not only for color, but for which cuts would flatter certain body types. But her temperament wasn't really suited for the retail. Despite learning to control her feelings in a way she'd never had to in Lawndale, she'd been reprimanded more than once for losing her temper with especially irritating customers.

It was another such reprimand she expected when her manager called her into the back office near the end of her shift. She'd tried to persuade a stubborn customer that the dress she'd picked out wouldn't hang well on such a thin frame, but the customer just got more and more annoyed. The conversation had become an argument despite Sandi's best efforts. Thus, she tried to defend herself immediately.

"I'm, like, really sorry, Michelle," she said. "I tried to hold my temper. You heard all the insults she heaped on me."

Michelle, a dark-haired thirtysomething who was bitter that life had dealt her a future as a retail manager, shrugged. "No big deal. She was a bitch anyway."

Expecting a lecture on professionalism and threats of firing—Michelle tended to take out her dissatisfaction on anyone unlucky enough to call attention to themselves—Sandi could only gape at her manager.

"Look, I need to ask you something," Michelle said, ignoring Sandi's shock. "I just got a call from our supervisor. She wants us to send some employees down to the store in the Galleria. Do you want to go?"

Sandi's insides froze. The Galleria was home to the Books By The Ton where Daria worked. Perceptive Daria would find out where Sandi worked within a week of them being in the same building—if she didn't know already. _I'm not prepared to think about that. _"I, uh, don't think that would be a good idea, Michelle. I have enough trouble with the customers out here. They're pushier the closer you get to Boston."

"That's true," Michelle said, with a toss of her inky hair. "But Jean disagrees with you." Jean was the store manager, used to getting her way. "And so do I."

"So, what you're saying is you're not giving me a choice." Sandi was proud of how she kept both anger and nerves out of her voice.

"There's always a choice," Michelle said with a bitter laugh. "You can choose to work at the Galleria, or you can choose not to work for Cashman's." With a shrug, almost as if she was trying to apologize, she added, "C'mon, it's no big deal. Your commute will be shorter, and I know you won't miss any of your co-workers. You hate them all."

"I don't, like, hate them," Sandi said, which was true. _I don't think about them enough to hate them. _"Fine," she sighed. "I'll work in the Galleria."

Michelle nodded. "Take the rest of the day off. You start at nine on Monday."

Without another word, Sandi left.

She headed over to Daria's around 5:30. She'd normally be there around 6:30 to help with the load up, if she wasn't stuck at work, but today she wanted to talk to Daria without their bandmates around. Her knock was answered promptly, if not especially graciously. "What are you doing here, Sandi?" Daria said. "I didn't expect anyone for another half-hour."

She bristled at Daria's tone. "If you don't want me here, I'll just get lost." _Good going, Sandi. You were planning on not being a bitch, and lasted almost ten seconds._

Fortunately, Daria didn't react badly. "Sorry, Sandi," she said. "I just didn't expect to see you here. It's usually Jane or Quinn showing up early wanting to talk."

"Oh." Curiosity, and a little suspicion, unfurled in Sandi's mind. _Do they talk about me? Strike that. What do they say about me?_

"Do you want to come in?" Daria asked.

"Oh, yeah." Sandi was suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I just started daydreaming for a second." For just a moment, she felt Daria's regard cutting through her and was a little afraid. Then the other girl turned to the stairs and the moment was broken.

Almost before she got through the door, Daria confronted her. "Look, Sandi, I think I may know why you're here, but before you say anything, I wanted to say I'm sorry. I was totally out of line yesterday. You have every right to express your opinion about the songs I bring to the band, whether I like it or not."

Disarmed by the apology, which she had not expected at all, Sandi could only stare. She couldn't imagine herself doing the same thing in Daria's position. The loss of face would be crippling. It didn't seem to bother Daria, though. _Of course, she did it while we were alone. Maybe she's trying to recruit me to use against Quinn._ Intraband politics were tricky, given the web of relationships between the girls, and Sandi was never sure of where she stood.

Suddenly realizing that Daria was waiting for her, she blurted, "Uh, no problem, Daria. I mean, I accept your apology."

"Good," Daria said. "Do you want some coffee?"

"It's almost six."

"Diet soda, then?" Without waiting for an answer, Daria headed to the kitchen and returned with a diet coke for Sandi and a regular for herself. With a half-smile, she said, "I'm used to Jane, who drinks coffee at all hours. Now," she said, taking a seat on the couch and fixing Sandi with a penetrating stare, "you wanted to talk to me about your song."

For just a moment, Sandi blinked, taken off guard, before sliding into the spot next to Daria. _She's good. All that scattered host bullshit to knock me off guard, and then right in for the kill. _She took a sip from her drink to play for time, before finally deciding that honesty was the best policy, at least for now.

"Why did you react so violently? After all, it's just one song."

"That's complicated," Daria said, steepling her fingers as she considered Sandi. Before she could elaborate, thumping on the stairs heralded Jane's arrival.

"Fuck!" Daria growled. "Do you want to keep talking? It'll probably help for Jane to hear this too."

"I don't think so," Sandi said, as the lock turned audibly. "We'll finish some other time."

"You're early, Sandi," Jane said as she came through the door.

"I could say the same about you," Daria responded before Sandi could.

"Yeah, well there was nothing on TV. Any coffee on?" Jane asked, looking hopeful.

"You though I was kidding," Daria said in an aside to Sandi before calling out to Jane. "You know where everything is. Fix yourself a pot if you want."

Watching the ease with which Jane roamed Daria's apartment and the comfort the two had with each other, Sandi felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Most of her relationships had been empty. The Clubbies were tools to be used or lackeys to be dominated, not friends, and her emotional connections in Boston were few and far between. She hadn't made any real friends, and the odd hook-up she'd had now and again was just that, a hook-up. College had been different, but that was long gone. Sometimes it seemed like a fantasy.

Daria watched Sandi thoughtfully but said nothing, until Jane emerged from the kitchen, mug in hand. "Anyone else want? I made a whole pot."

Sandi shook off her reverie, and gave Jane a disbelieving look. "Normal people don't drink coffee this late in the day."

"Why not? It's not like I'm going to bed anytime soon." A feral smile lit Jane's angular features. "Besides, I'm a drummer. I'm not supposed to be normal."

Daria half-smiled. "And a good thing, too, since you haven't got a prayer."

Another key sounded in the lock, and Quinn opened the door. A sudden frown crossed her face, quickly hidden behind the usual vapid smile. "Did I miss coffee hour?" she asked lightly.

"No matter," Jane said. "There's always another one."

"Ugh," Quinn said. "How can you drink that stuff? You're going to be a mass of wrinkles by the time you're thirty."

Jane took a long slug, and quirked a smile at Quinn. "Even if I am, it'll be worth it."

"Well, since we're all here early," Daria said, "and kaffeeklatschis over," she shot Jane an amused look, "why don't we run through a couple of songs before the load-up."

"One sec," Jane said. She drained her mug and refilled it as Quinn and Sandi rose. "Okay. Now I'm ready."

With a sigh, Daria led them downstairs. Once there, the Girls got right to work, cracking through some of the older numbers that were starting to get a little sloppy. When they were satisfied, they set their instruments aside and began packing up. First came the small speaker stacks—miniature speakers that gave enough sound to fill places larger than Octobers but could be loaded easily by four young women. Then came Jane's drum kit, followed by the guitar and bass, three mike stands, and a crapload of input and output leads.

The process was efficient and usually quiet, though one of the others, usually Jane, might crack a joke to lighten the tension. Sandi never did. She often thought the other three could work just as efficiently without her, which they sometimes did when Sandi was running late from work or just feeling pissy.

The unload after they reached October's mirrored the load up. As they unloaded, Sandi watched Daria out of the corner of her eye, wondering what Daria would have said had Jane not shown up. _Would she have listened to my song? Would she let the band play it? Would I even want them to? _For the first time, Sandi considered how much Daria was exposing by letting the band use her words. _And she's so guarded_, part of her mind said. _Almost as guarded as you,_ the rest responded. She suddenly felt Quinn's eyes on her, and realized she'd stopped moving. Hitching the coil of leads higher on her shoulder, she sighed and got back to work.

After set-up, they did a quick sound check, treating the stragglers in the day crowd to a couple of quick songs, then headed downstairs to wait for the show. As she sat, "My Eyes" ran through Sandi's mind. Again she wondered if Daria was nervous that her inner thoughts were being put on public display, and again she wondered what it would be like for her own words to fill the space upstairs—her words in Quinn's voice.

Several times she almost spoke up, but in the end, it was Mike Tierney's voice that broke the silence. "It's time, ladies." Still wordless, they filed up the stairs. "Good crowd out there," Mike said as they passed. "Send 'em home happy, huh?"

More and more, Daria's songs were getting pride of place in the set, and tonight was no exception. The ecstatic crowd cheered as the Girls kicked the show off with "Charmed Circle." Quinn was in fine voice, Daria's playing was unusually expressive, and Jane's drumming was rock solid. For once, Sandi found herself struggling to keep up, as part of her mind kept rolling over the question of her song.

The band rolled into "Little Girl Found," Daria's idea of a love song. With a raging guitar and pounding drums as accompaniment, Quinn nearly spat the bitter, cutting lyrics._ Bad enough she bares her soul, but through Quinn?_ A thousand slights and insults at Quinn's hands popped into Sandi's mind: being shot by Quinn and left behind on that stupid paintball trip; having everyone ditch her party to go to Quinn's dance; flunking that stupid essay Daria set during the teacher's strike, an essay Quinn had aced; getting rejected by Pepperhill when Quinn got into New England School of Design.Let Quinn sing _her _words? The idea made her stomach suddenly turn. But here was Daria doing just that. _And Daria must have put up with more than I did._

A sour note struck her ears, and she realized it was her own. _Head in the game, Griffin_, she thought, and concentrated on the bass.

"Little Girl Found" gave way to "Hard World," an unprecedented trio of GTS originals to open a show. The crowd seemed to be eating it up, despite Sandi's sloppy playing, though "Helter Skelter" did get a bigger roar than any of the originals. Unusually, they closed out the first set with "Roadrunner," part of their strategy to shift the focus to the originals. As the last "RADIO ON!" died, Quinn said, "Thanks! You've been great! We'll be back for the second set in a little while." Sandi worked her way towards Daria as the four Girls left the stage.

"How do you do it?" Sandi asked, as they walked downstairs.

"Do what?" Daria asked.

"Put your words out there for everyone to judge?"

"Oh," Daria said as they reached the landing. "Thick skin. If you have something to say, you'd better be prepared for someone trying to shout you down."

Sandi pondered Daria's words as they turned towards their little "dressing" room. Before she could say anything else, she felt Jane's angry eyes on her. _She's pissed. And at me._ For a second, she thought about confronting the other girl, but a sudden burst of chatter from Quinn cut that off, as well as any chance she had to continue her conversation with Daria. Instead, she sat and lapsed in to moody silence until the call came for the second set.

The second set went much better. Despite, or maybe because of, her black mood, Sandi focused totally on the bass and its interlock with the drums. Since Jane's drumming, whether due to her own anger or for some other reason, was especially crisp and propulsive, this wasn't hard to do. The band roared with energy, and by the time the set closer, "Wherever You Can Find It," rolled around, the crowd was in a joyous frenzy. The Girls left the stage to chants of "G-T-S! G-T-S!"

It should have been a triumph, but Sandi was too confused by Jane's anger and too aware of the distance between herself and the other Girls to enjoy it. She spoke little during the load-out, even when Daria disappeared for ten minutes, and climbed into van without acknowledging her bandmates. The complicated rotation the Girls had worked out had Jane at the wheel and her in the passenger seat, which made for an extra-uncomfortable ride until Daria finally spoke.

"We have an audition next Tuesday," she said, as matter-of-fact as only she could be. "That's where I was during the load-out, in case you were wondering."

The two girls in the front only nodded, not even caring whether Daria could see.

"It's at LL Wolf's in Middletown Square," Quinn said, almost burbling. "It's a big spot. They can get over a thousand people in there on a Saturday night. Not that we'll be playing Saturdays. Well, not right away at least, but it's a big chance for us, so we have to play really, really well, and—"

"Thank you, Quinn," Daria cut in. "It is a big opportunity, but I think we're ready for it." Sandi caught the sardonic look in the rear view mirror, "In spite of our issues tonight." _Is that directed at me? _

"Not my issues," Jane muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"That answers that," Sandi's own mutter earner her a sharp look from Jane.

Daria ignored then both. "Do you guys want to have extra practices?"

"Whatever," Sandi shrugged, as Quinn held a spirited debate with herself about all the ways they could approach the audition. Jane said nothing more, and just drove.

Moments passed with Quinn's chatter as the only noise. Finally, Daria sighed. "Guys, this is a pretty big deal, so I was hoping you guys would give it a bit more consideration."

"I did," Quinn interrupted.

"Yes, Quinn," Daria deadpanned. "And we're all grateful for you taking every possible position on the issue. But I'd like to hear from Jane and Sandi, too."

Neither Jane nor Sandi said anything, as the van turned onto Daria's street.

"Fine," Daria said. "The audition's not for ten days, so why don't we talk about it on Tuesday. We can always squeeze in extra practices over the weekend if we need to."

As Jane pulled the van into Daria's driveway, Sandi felt a sudden stab of anger. Sure, she'd missed a couple of notes, but she very rarely did. _Jane barely wanders by the beat every twelve measures or so, and she has the nerve to get mad at me? _Dark thoughts still churning, she hopped out of the van, grabbed her bass, and headed to her Vexer, not bothering with the unload or the comments of her bandmates.

By Monday morning she was still a little angry at Jane, but she was far more worried about her first workday at the Galleria. Not only did she have Daria to worry about, but she had to make a good impression on her new bosses. _Just because I don't like my job, doesn't mean I don't want to keep it, _she thought as gave herself a once-over in the long mirror on the bathroom door.

She needn't have worried. Although her day began with a half-hour lecture from her new manager Sarah about "the importance of decorum to the Cashman's employee," her new coworkers were bawling out customers and telling her not to sweat things by the time lunch rolled around. Around 4, she found herself dealing with a pushy big-haired woman of about twenty-five or so with a nasal while that went right through Sandi's _head. And probably brick walls_. Somehow she managed to find the woman a pair of shoes in the exact shade of purple—_purple?!—_she wanted without beating the woman to death with a stiletto heel, or even losing her temper.

"Good job," said a voice behind her. Sarah, a platinum blonde with a long face, grinned at her. "If you can survive the neon high-heel crowd, you'll do fine. She had a pretty smile that lit her otherwise unremarkable features.

"Like, uh, thank you," Sandi said, not used to compliments.

"Look, you've only got about a half-hour. Why don't you restock some of the displays up front. If any customers bother you, just play dumb."

_She seems nice, _Sandi thought as she arranged this season's blouses on the sale table. _I wonder what Michelle and Jean told her about me. Might be nice to get a fresh start._

A familiar voice interrupted, "Sandi?"

She looked up into bespectacled eyes framed by auburn hair. _Fuck! s_he thought, inner voice sulfurous; outwardly, she merely said, "Oh. Daria."

"I, uh, didn't know you worked in the Galleria." Daria said, clearly confused.

"I just started here today," Sandi said, trying to be matter-of-fact. "I was up in the Middlesex Mall before." Inside, shame burned. _There goes my comfortable illusion._

"Well, that explains where you found the outfits," Daria muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sandi said, suddenly defensive.

Daria colored faintly with embarrassment. "Sorry, just thinking aloud. I should probably thank you for using your employee discount on us."

Anger rose in Sandi, and sarcasm poured forth. "Oh, you're so very welcome, Daria. You know I live but to serve with my humble employee discount."

Daria raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry if I was rude, but I don't think that was warranted."

"You come over here, give me crap for working retail, and don't, like, think me losing my temper is warranted?" Sandi's voice started to rise, but she got control of it.

Daria almost took a step back out of shock. "Sandi, why would I care that you work retail? I work four stores down."

_How could someone so smart be so dumb? Or is she playing me? If she is, I swear I will hurt her. _"I'm supposed to be shopping in Cashman's, not working here."

"Okay," Daria said with a shrug. "Look, my shift starts in about ten minutes, so I've gotta run. But I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

"Sure, whatever," Sandi said, scanning the other girl's face for hidden emotion. _I don't want your contempt, Daria, and I sure as shit don't want your pity._

Unnoticed, one of her co-workers came up behind her. "Someone you know?"

Sandi regarded the other girl coldly. "None of your business," she snapped.

"Well, excuse me for asking," the girl snapped.

Sandi suddenly felt ashamed. "Wait," she said, as the other girl turned to go. "I'm sorry. I just ran into someone I was hoping not to. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"That's alright. No one's happy working retail." the other girl said. Black hair framed a wide face and large brown eyes. "You're the new girl, Sandi, right?"

Sandi gestured toward her nametag. "That's me," she said. Seeing the other girl's tag, she added, "And you're Lina."

Lina nodded. "Listen. The day shift sometimes goes out for dinner and drinks when we get off. You're welcome to come."

A dozen reasons why not rose in Sandi's mind. She was tired; she was still mad at Jane; now she was pissed at Daria, too; she didn't want to hang out and talk about the job. She ignored them all. "Sure. Sounds like fun."

On her way to practice the next day, Sandi reflected that last night had been both good and bad. It was good because she hadn't been out and about in awhile. There were clubs and pick-up bars when she was feeling physically lonely, but she hadn't felt comfortable enough around anyone to have a gossip over cosmopolitans in a long time—not since she last saw Tiffany, and that was before she moved to Boston. But Lina was easy to get along with, and she'd smoothed Sandi's way with the other girls. It had been a nice night, something she missed.

On the other hand, it was bad because cosmos packed a wallop. Even though she'd left at a reasonable hour—sharing a cab with two of the other girls—she still had the remains of a pretty unpleasant hangover. Having to take two different buses to get her car hadn't helped. I_t's only four, I said. But I forgot that I only drink wine when I go clubbing. And two glasses of wine is a world apart from four Cosmos_. She turned on to Daria's street with a little shudder. _And now I get to deal with the fallout from Saturday._

It was Jane who let her in. "Where's Daria?" Sandi asked.

"Downstairs with Quinn," Jane said.

"Left you to be the doorman, huh?" Sandi said, for once trying to commiserate. Jane didn't respond. _She can't still be mad. Can she?_

It soon became clear that she was. Rather than lead her to the basement, Jane stopped in the middle of Daria's living room and fixed Sandi with a cold glare. "I asked Daria and Quinn if I could talk to you alone."

"About what?" Sandi said, suspicious. Pain began to pulse in her temples, pain that had nothing to do with the morning's hangover.

Jane's blue eyes flashed. "About what your problem is."

Sandi's anger rose to match Jane's. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"We've got a big audition coming up next week, and you act like you don't care," Jane snapped. "You didn't say a word about it."

"I seem to remember someone else not saying anything." Sandi's voice was sardonic.

"That's because I was pissed at how badly you sucked!"

"I flubbed one fucking note! Half the time you don't even bother to keep a beat."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Jane growled. "You're late for practices, and half the time you don't even show up for the load up."

"Because I _work_!" Sandi cut in, not caring that her secret was out.

If Jane was taken aback, she didn't show it. "Daria and Quinn work, and they're never late."

"Of course not! The band's schedule is built around Daria." Sandi invested the name with all the scorn she could muster.

"And what the fuck is your problem with Daria, anyway?"

"I don't have a problem with Daria."

"Sure. That's why you flubbed her songs and not the covers. And why you're acting like you're some big songwriter."

"If you have something to say, Jane," Sandi hissed, "why don't you just say it."

Before Jane could, a bespectacled head popped out from the downstairs doorway. "Judging from the yelling I heard through the floor, this conversation hasn't been very productive," Daria said. Sandi, balanced on a knife edge of rage, wasn't sure if she wanted to thank Daria or punch her.

Apparently, neither was Jane. "I'm not finished," she roared.

Daria was unmoved. "I think you are. What say we work out of some of our aggression by playing?" Neither Jane nor Sandi moved. Daria gave them both a flat look. "Fine. Sandi, you first." Wanting to end the confrontation, but not wanting be back down, she stood until Daria barked, "Move!" Almost against her will, her legs carried her to the door.

As they went down the stairs, Daria was between Sandi and Jane. _Deliberately, I'll bet_, Sandi thought. They found everything set up, and Quinn seated on the drum stool. Sandi plugged in, ignoring the questioning look Quinn was giving her.

They ran quickly through the originals that were part of the set. Sandi was still angry from her conversation with Jane, but she was able to focus on her playing with ease. They rolled from song to song with ease, before jolting to a stop after "Hard World."

Daria gave them a small smile. "Sounding good, Quinn. And the bass was steady as a rock, Sandi." Jane's drumsticks clattered to the floor, but Daria continued without missing a beat. "I don't think we should bother with the covers this week. The guy from LL Wolfs was interested in the originals, so I think we should focus on them. What do you all think?"

"But Daria, we've done all the originals." Quinn said.

"Not the new ones," Daria said. "'No Light Shines' is right there, and if we concentrate on the others, I think we can have them ready, too. And that gives us more options, right?"

"Does that include 'Shards?'" Jane asked, an unaccustomed note of challenge in her voice.

An inscrutable half-smile crossed Daria's face. "Well, if anyone else has something better, now would be a good time to mention it."

Sandi watched Daria as Quinn exploded angrily. "That's not fair, Daria. You know damn well none of the rest of us has any songs and you're using it to push that piece of crap on us."

For just a second, Daria's face froze in anger. Sandi knew this would be a good time to step in if she wanted to keep things from spiraling out of control. But she didn't like being manipulated, especially this blatantly, so she said nothing. _Who says I want to keep things in control, anyway? Let's see what happens._

"Um, Quinn—" Jane started, but Daria interrupted.

"So what do you think we should do, Quinn?" Daria's voice was calm, and if there was a bit of an edge to it, Sandi, at least, couldn't blame her.

"Not play 'Shards,' that's for sure," Quinn retorted.

"I get it, sis," Daria said. "Do you have any strategy beyond that?"

Quinn glared back at her sister, but said nothing.

Daria gave her a satisfied, "I thought so," look before turning to the other two. "Sandi?"

_Real subtle, Daria. _"What?"

"Didn't you say you had a song?"

Silence stretched, as Sandi struggled to choose. _Do I trust her? _She could almost hear her mother's voice saying, "Anyone you trust will abuse that trust. It's just another way to let people use you." She wanted to shriek at her mother to shut up, but she knew there was no point—her mother was long gone from her life.

Tired of waiting, Daria broke the silence. "Well, the only thing I have left is 'Shards.' If you guys want to, we can work on it, you know," she shot Quinn a humorous glance, "make it less crappy."

A subconscious shift occurred, immediately reflected in Sandi's conscious brain. _The hell with this, _she thought. _Forget about trust. It's just about not hearing that shitty song again._ "Wait," she said. "There's 'My Eyes.'" Daria, she noted, looked satisfied.

"What?" This from Quinn.

"I've got a song, Quinn," Sandi said, voice tinged with mockery, "you know, that I wrote, like, by myself."

Quinn looked taken aback. "You wrote a song?"

Sandi gave her a patronizing look. "If you remember, I told you all last week. Then Daria threw me out."

"You were serious?" Quinn asked, still looking shocked and dismayed. "Not just trying to get Daria's goat?"

"Don't act so surprised, Quinn," Sandi sneered. "I've always been better with words than you."

"And you want us to listen to it, and maybe play it on stage?"

"No, I want you to take me out to congratulate me, maybe Chuck E. Cheese. What do you think I want?"

"What does Daria think of this?" Jane, behind the drums, looked troubled.

Daria shrugged. "You've heard everything I have. If we want another song, it's gonna be Sandi's."

"Do we need another song?" Quinn asked.

"Options, Quinn. That's what Daria said, right?" Sandi shot back.

Quinn didn't speak, but Sandi recognized the look on her face. She was ready to lose it. In Lawndale, that look had always been followed by Quinn giving in, but not really giving in. Here, though, she expected something more direct.

She wasn't disappointed. "We don't have time for this, Sandi," Quinn snapped. "We'll freaking do 'Shards' if we have to."

Daria tried to interrupt. "Uh, Quinn—"

"No," Sandi raked Daria with a glare. "Let's hear it. We can't hear 'My Eyes' but we can hear that piece of shit again?" She saw Daria's face darken, but ignored it.

"Daria's earned our attention. We know we can trust her."

"And you can't trust me?" For Sandi, the room had narrowed. It was her and Quinn, alone, finally having the confrontation she'd expected since sophomore year of high school, five long years ago.

"Why should we?" Quinn was beginning to redden. "I don't mind being used, but I don't even know why you'd want to. You won't tell us anything—not what you want, where you live, why you're in Boston, where you work."

"So sure I have to work, drinks-for-tips?" She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it, but she was beyond caring. She wanted to hurt Quinn badly, but she forgot that attacking can leave you open to counterattack.

"It's not working at Cashman's, I know," Quinn said as nastily as she could. "But at least I'm proud of it."

A sudden roaring filled Sandi's ears. Rage poured forth in red torrents. It was all she could do not to launch herself at Quinn, at all three of them, but her dignity would not allow it. Instead, she channeled her anger into words. "You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you, Quinn Morgendorffer, and fuck your sister, and fuck your little band." She hadn't realized how deep her anger was, with her mother, with her life. It felt good to take out some of it on a source that richly deserved it. "I've put up with you and your asskissing and your backstabbing for five years, and I'm done with it. Let Daria find you another bassist. Maybe if she walks across the Charles, there'll be one waiting." She gave them all another vicious glare as she grabbed her bass. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I see any of you again. I quit!" With that, she headed up the stairs and out the door, and was gone.

Wednesday and Thursday were work days, and Sandi was grateful for the dull routine after Tuesday night's drama. Wednesday went smoothly, and if she seemed a little drained or lethargic, Sarah was kind enough not to notice. Back at the apartment, she saw she had several voice mails. The caller ID indicated they were almost all from Quinn. She deleted them.

After a long, hot bath, she considered her options for the night. A small, but insistent, voice said she should put on her little black dress and find some action. She was tempted enough to locate the article in question in the bedroom closet, but in the end, she decided to stay in. _If I'm still in a funk on Friday night, I can go looking for a lay. Right now, I just want to think._

Almost without knowing why, she grabbed her guitar, and began strumming random chords until she found two chords that fit together well. Dimly aware that this was how 'My Eyes' came about, she continued playing until she had four chords and a key modulation. The words "mother's love" popped into her mind.

Linda, she thought as she played, had not been pleased to find that Sandi had begun to play music again in college. _Of course, Linda wasn't pleased with much of anything when I was a freshman in college._

"I thought we settled this in eighth grade, young lady," she'd snapped when she saw Sandi emerge from her car with guitar case in hand over Thanksgiving. If the look Linda gave her daughter was cold, the look she gave her husband when Tom got out of the car promised slow, painful death.

"Don't blame Dad," Sandi said. "This was my choice. Dad didn't even know until he came to pick me up." Truth be told, she'd expected a confrontation. She still wasn't sure if bringing a musical instrument was her way of hastening it.

"Your choice?" Linda's eyes narrowed. "To what? Throw away your life on nonsense?"

"My choice to find out who I am," Sandi flung back. "Isn't that what college is about? Testing boundaries, spreading your wings?"

"Maybe if you're a pothead," Linda spat. "It's about focusing your goals and getting a toolkit of skills you'll need to succeed in the real work. Look at me! I went after a career in broadcasting and I was interviewing the First Lady by the time I was 25."

"And what have you done since then?"

"Raised you, you ungrateful little wretch," Linda was almost growling.

"Don't pin this on me, Sam, or Chris," Sandi laughed bitterly. "It's not like you let your three children interfere with your glorious career."

"How dare you!"

"How dare you tell me how to live my life!" Sandi shrieked. She hefted her guitar case and fled from her mother's rage-filled eyes, until she reached the safety of her old room. Once there, she locked the door, flung herself on the bed, and wept until no more tears would come.

A discordant note brought her back from her reverie. She grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and begun to make quick notes: the chord progression, a rhythm line, and the beginnings of some lyrics. She swore as she began to play again, then crossed out the lyrics and begin again. After an hour and a half, dozens of fits and starts, and a mass of crumpled paper, she had a verse and chorus to go with the music:

_Make me your shadow. Make me your pawn,_

_Use me as something to pin your hopes on._

_Tell me you love me, but I know that it's lies._

_I'm just something else to accessorize._

_How can you tell me this is a mother's love?_

_Steer with an iron hand in your velvet glove._

_I left you behind to be who I should be,_

_So why does my mirror show you and not me._

She sang and played what she had so far, varying the tempo during the chorus. "What crap," she said with a bitter sigh, but carefully set the page aside, remembering her father's reaction to the fight.

A soft knock had sounded at Sandi's bedroom door. At first she ignored it, until her father's soft voice followed. "Honey, open up please."

She made no effort to hide her tear-streaked face as she confronted her father. "Why didn't you stand up for me?"

"Honey," he said, his pale, thin face downcast, "I'm sorry. But your mother—"

Sandi cut him off viciously, "Oh yes, my mother! She's turned you into a jellyfish, and Sam and Chris into monsters. And she wants to turn me into a little version of her."

Anger blossomed in Tom Griffin's face, but it quickly died. "I wish I could say you're wrong, Sandi," he said with a heavy sigh.

He sat down nest to her and continued to try and calm her, and she continued to let him. But from that moment it was clear, if it hadn't been before, that her father was not someone Sandi could depend on.

She came back to herself with a sigh, and flipped on the television. Sleep was a long time in coming.

Thursday went by in a blur and, by Friday, Sandi was drained enough to sleep until noon. She would normally have been up and getting ready for rehearsal by now, but she hadn't bothered to set the alarm last night. When she woke, the first thing she was aware of was the muffled whine of the doorbell. _So I can hear it in the bedroom_, her sleep-fogged brain thought. She took a minute to let her mind clear, hoping that whoever was there would take the hint, but no such luck. After the fifth ring, she struggled out of bed.

At the front door, she found Daria, looking sheepish. "I didn't realize I'd be waking you," Daria said by way of apology.

Sandi wasn't having it. "Can you think of one good reason why I shouldn't slam the door in your face?"

"Uh, you might just have won a million dollars?" Daria cracked.

"Nice try," Sandi said. "Now if you don't mind. I'm going back to bed."

"Don't you think we need to talk?" Daria asked, suddenly serious.

"About what? I quit the band. Remember?"

"I do," Daria said. "But I don't think making a choice like that in the heat of the moment is a good idea."

"So what can I do to convince you I'm serious?" Sandi asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Talk to me. And when we're done, if you tell me you're through I'll leave you alone."

"Fine," Sandi said, opening the door. _Did Daria come here to beg? That almost makes up for her knowing where I live. Which reminds me..._ "So how do you know where I live?"

"Got your address off the 'net," Daria said, shrugging.

Sandi could tell Daria was lying, but decided not to press her for the moment. She led the other girl upstairs and into the living room. "Nice place," Daria said as she looked around.

"It's okay," Sandi said, sitting down in her usual chair. "So talk," she said as Daria took a seat in the other chair.

Daria gave her a half-smile. "Let me ask you something first." Her eyes were suddenly piercing. "Why did you join the band?"

"You needed a bassist," Sandi returned without missing a beat, even as she wondered where Daria was going with this.

Daria gave her a curious look, almost approving. "That's the reason we asked you to join. It's not the answer to my question. Why did you say yes?"

Sandi didn't have a ready answer. She'd only been in Boston a couple of months when she ran into Quinn, and she'd only gone on the audition because Quinn looked so uncomfortable. Thinking about it, she thought it was spite that had motivated her—at Quinn and at her mother, who hated her music so much. _But that's not the sort of thing you tell someone. Instead, _she gave a little shrug and said, "Quinn asked me."

"Okay," Daria said. If she suspected that Sandi's answer was at best a half-truth, she gave no indication. "So, why did you quit?"

Shock registered in Sandi's voice, along with anger. "You were there! You know!"

"I know Quinn was being bratty and you got pissed," Daria said calmly. "But it was hardly the first time. So what was the straw that broke the camel's back?"

Part of Sandi very much wanted to toss Daria out, but she knew she wouldn't. She was too committed to finding out what Daria was getting at. _Not that I'm going to make it easy._ "Let me ask _you_ a question first," she said. "Why did you react so angrily when I said I wrote a song?"

Daria turned away. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"Huh." Sandi said. "I figured you came here with all the answers."

"There are no real answers, Sandi, only competing guesses," Daria said.

"So let's hear yours."

"Well," Daria said, very thoughtful now. "There's the obvious interpretation. I'm the least attractive, and I'm not an exceptional guitarist. The one thing I bring is my songs. That's my role, and you'd be taking it away."

Sandi thought Daria was selling herself short, but wasn't about to interrupt.

Daria continued. "I think there was an emotional reaction beyond simple fight-or-flight. At a guess, I'd say I didn't want you providing something to Quinn, and to a lesser extent Jane, that only I can provide. Since Quinn's in the band because she wants to spend time with me, I need to be able to give her something back."

"So she's in the bend to spend time with you," Sandi said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Not because she wants to be rich and famous, with millions of guys worshiping her?"

"Point." Daria half-smiled. "But we don't just do things for one reason, Sandi. For instance, I'm in the band because Jane asked me, and I thought it might be a way to redefine myself, get away from who I was in high school. And, I'm a poet, and the only way to get my words out where they can be heard are as song lyrics."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"Well, there's your motivations, too. I'd say spite played a big part there."

"Oh?" Sandi asked mildly, nettled at how easily Daria read her, but determined not to show it. "How do you figure that?"

"Why else would you join a band with Quinn?" Daria half-smiled again. "It's no secret that you two never really got along, even when you were nominally friends."

"Counterpoint." It was Sandi's turn to half-smile.

"But I think you love music, and you like playing with us. You didn't have to stay in the band if you just wanted to tweak Quinn." Daria leaned forward, suddenly intent. "Am I right?"

Sandi found herself almost hypnotized by Daria's eyes. Magnified by her glasses, they seemed bottomless, filled with wisdom and a deep fire, and not a little compassion. She turned away to break the connection and let the fancy fade. When she turned back, her own eyes were hard. "So what if I do?"

"Then I owe you an apology." Daria met her eyes squarely. "It's only now that you might quit that I'm realizing what it means to have you as part of the band."

"What do you mean by that?" Sandi's tone was wary bordering on cold.

"I've been thinking of you as 'our bassist' and not as someone who brings their own needs and wants to the group. And that's not going to work."

"Oh," Sandi said, now thoroughly confused. _Maybe I should just kick her out and forget I ever knew her. At least then my head will hurt less._

"If you want to write and you think it'll make the band better, the least I can do is take you seriously as something other than a threat. So if you don't mind playing it, I'd love to hear your song." Daria's normally flat voice had an earnest, almost pleading, tone. "It's called 'My Eyes,' right?"

As if in a trance, Sandi took her acoustic guitar, slid it over her head, and fiddled with the tuning. Her eyes locked with Daria's again, but only part of the time did she see deep brown eyes with a touch of pleading. Instead, she saw cold, disapproving eyes—her mother's eyes. She could think of nothing that would hurt her mother more than to play a song she'd written to a daughter of Helen Morgendorffer. And so she did.

The progression was ever so slightly dissonant. It wasn't tuneless; in fact, the melody was pretty but it was ever-so-slightly _off_, merging with the vivid, but unhappy, imagery of the lyrics—a tale of love offered in hope and rejected in despair. Now both her mother's eyes and Daria's were gone; only the music and her words remained:

_Your words build castles in the air,_

_Bedecked with jewels to dazzle me._

_But my eyes see nothing fair,_

_Only ruins devoured by sunless sea._

As the song finished, Sandi came back to herself, and to Daria sitting across from her, face unreadable as always. Regret crept over her. True, it was Daria and not Quinn she was playing for, but Daria was difficult to please and very good at showing it. Sandi steadied herself and waited for the onslaught.

"For some reason," Daria said. "I'm hearing harps and strings with that song."

"Look, I know you don't like it—" Sandi stopped, confused. "What?!"

"I love it. I'm just wondering how to arrange it for just four instruments. It deserves a lush '70s production with masses of strings and possibly a choir."

Sandi found herself saying something she never thought she would. "Be serious, Daria." _There's certainly more facets to her than I ever thought in Lawndale._

"I am. Lyrically, there are some things that I'd do differently, but it's your song. I have no right to change it. I think the chording works very well with the intensity of the lyrics. Maybe," she said, suddenly thoughtful, "we'd be better off using a sparse arrangement, just guitar and keyboards. Or," she continued, clearing her head, "maybe not. We'll see."

"So sure?" Sandi said, tone brittle. While she was elated that someone else liked her song, Daria's assumption that everything was better bothered her. "I don't remember unquitting."

Daria again looked sheepish. "You're right, Sandi. I got carried away. The decision is yours, of course."

"Of course," Sandi said, with heavy irony. "Now if you'll excuse me."

"Sure," Daria said and rose. "Before I go," she added before pausing. "I, uh— Look, I'm not very good at things like this, and God knows I should have said it a year ago, but I know you've had a tough time with your parents' divorce and all, so, uh, if you need someone to talk to, let me know."

Sandi's insides froze at the word divorce. "And how do you know about that?" she demanded.

Daria was taken aback by the ferocity of her response. "Mom told us a couple of months after you joined. Neither of us wanted to say anything..."

"Because you figured you'd have a laugh at my expense?" Sandi snapped.

"Because it wasn't our business," Daria retorted, hurt in her eyes. "I figured if you wanted us to know, you'd tell us. It wasn't until today that I realized you had no reason to tell us because we never gave you a reason to trust us."

Sandi's anger drained away, leaving her empty and ashamed. "I'm sorry I snapped, Daria. But I can't talk about this right now. Maybe later."

"Fair enough," Daria said. "You know where to find me when you decide. I'll show myself out." With that she turned and headed out, leaving a very confused Sandi to grapple with her memories.

Her mother's face swam before her eyes, as it was the day their relationship had broken beyond repair. Linda's cheeks had been suffused with blood, her eyes glittering with rage as she berated her daughter. "Ungrateful little swine! How could you do this to me?"

"To _you_?" Sandi had been incredulous. "This isn't about you, Mother! It's about me wanting to live my own life, to be the person I want to be, not the person you want me to be." She'd been a sophomore in college, about to start her fourth semester—and declare a major.

"You're pathetic," Linda snarled. "Just like your father. Always complaining about who you want to be because you're too weak to be who you are." Her parents' marriage had been slowly collapsing for years, but the process had been speeding up recently, causing Sandi to avoid coming home as much as possible. Campus was closed over Christmas, though. So she'd come home right into the scene she'd been trying to avoid.

"It's not weakness," Sandi almost screamed. "It's strength! To go after what makes me happy instead of taking the easy way. Why can't you understand that? Is it because you're insane? Or because you insist everyone around you has to be as miserable as you are?"

"What do you mean by that, young lady? I'm trying to keep you from being miserable. Miserable and weak, like your father."

"Yes," Sandi flung the words at her mother, "because serving divorce papers during Christmas dinner is the sign of a content and fulfilled woman! I don't want to be you, Mother!"

"You want to be a failure." Linda's voice dripped venom. "You want to throw away everything I've given you to be some loser who lets the world walk all over you."

"What you've given me? What you've given me?!" Sandi's voice rose to hysterical shrieks. "You've never given me anything, Mother! You've just taken it away. You took my music away, and any time I tried to make a friend, you turned me against them. Well, no more! I'm going to major in music, and minor in learning to be a human being! Someone who can have friends and relate to other people as equals, not as tools to be used or victims to be exploited. I'm going to have my life! Not yours!"

"Oh, you will, will you?" Linda's voice went completely flat and cold. "I don't think so, Alexandra. You'll do what I say, or forget about going back to that school. As long as _I _pay your tuition, _I _decide what you study." Eyes boring into Sandi's, she continued. "And don't think your father will help you. His assets have been frozen as part of the divorce. Right now, he can't pay for dinner, much less a semester of college."

Sandi refused to back down, but Linda was proven right. The only thing Tom could do for her when she told him of her intentions was to set her up with an apartment in his sister's house in the Boston area. After the previous Thanksgiving, she wasn't at all surprised. The real Tom Griffin was long gone, and whatever was left was broken beyond repair. Linda had seen to that.

So she'd packed up the Vexer and headed to Boston. She got the job at Cashman's right away. She tried taking some classes, but just couldn't do it. It was college that had torn her life apart, and she wasn't ready to try again. So she worked and practiced music and settled into a dull routine. And then she ran into Quinn.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she grabbed her acoustic guitar and dug out the sheet of paper with her lyrics from earlier in the week. She started running through the chords over and over, now jotting down a lyric, now crossing it out. Hours passed without her noticing. As the sun went low in the western sky, she found herself with a song, musically bare still, but with four verses and a haunting bridge. "Mother's Love," she said as she wrote the words the top of the page. "Now what the hell do I do with it?"

Saturdays were one of her early shifts, so she was up and out by nine. She'd spent a lot of time thinking about the band last night, but hadn't come to any conclusion. She knew it was foolish to throw away a year's worth of progress in a fit of pique, but she also knew there was more to think about than just getting paid to play music. She was in control of her own life, even if she'd had to reject her mother to do it, and she wasn't sure how much control she wanted to trade to fit in with the band.

When Quinn showed up halfway through her shift, Sandi was less than gracious. "What the hell are you doing here? Is this Morgendorffer Stalker Week? Or is Jane going to get in on the fun too?"

Quinn controlled herself with a visible effort. "I know Daria spoke to you, Sandi, but I want to talk to you too."

"Fashion Club Solidarity?" She knew Quinn didn't deserve her cruelty, but she couldn't help herself. "How very junior year of High School."

"Well," Quinn said, "I do know you the best, and I did pick the fight that made you quit the band. So if nothing else, I owe you an apology."

_Both Morgendorffer sisters apologizing to me. And on consecutive days. What's next, Linda offering to put me through Harvard?_ For Quinn, she spared a wry half-smile. "Fine. Your apology is accepted."

To Sandi's surprise, Quinn made no assumptions. "Thank you. I'd still like to talk, though."

"I'm kinda working, Quinn."

"Can you take a break?" Quinn said, finally letting some annoyance show in her voice.

"I don't know. Maybe in a half an hour."

"Fine. Meet me in the food court in half an hour."

Sandi followed Quinn's red tresses as they faded into the mass of shoppers. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Quinn at all, but at least she had a half-hour's grace. _And I can always blow her _off.

She was unaware of Lina behind her until the other girl spoke. "So you're in a band. Why didn't you tell me on Monday?"

"I'm, uh, not sure I am anymore. I quit on Tuesday."

"Oh, too bad," Lina said. "Red trying to talk you back in?"

"Something like that," Sandi said. "Her sister did the same thing yesterday."

"Sounds like they want you back badly."

"Yeah, but the question is why?" Sandi started absently stacking shirts again, her face a thoughtful mask. Lina disappeared to talk to a customer, but returned a minute later. "I bet there's some history there."

"Yeah. Quinn, the redhead, was in my grade in High School. The other two girls in the band were a year ahead of us."

Lina nodded. "That can be tough. You gonna talk to her?"

"I don't know," Sandi said. "Right now, I think I'm just going to stack shirts."

"Cool." Lina smiled. "I'm going to help some customers. But if I were you I'd remember one thing: At least you know they want you." She chuckled to herself and was gone.

A half-hour later, Sandi was reflecting on the truth of Lina's statement as she walked toward the food court. She thought she might have trouble spotting Quinn in the crowd of diners, but the redhead was leaning against the wall under the Food Court sign.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said with an enigmatic smile.

"And miss the chance to catch up? Quinn, you wound me." Sandi was tempted to put a hand to her forehead, but decided the sarcasm was enough.

"Whatever," Quinn said. "Do you want something to eat?"

Sandi nodded. "This is the only break I get, and I'm not off until at least five." She followed Quinn to the sandwich stand, which also did a nice salad, and in a couple of minutes, they were seated across from each other, each with a salad in front of her.

Before Sandi could do more than take a bite, Quinn blurted, "I don't like you."

Sandi hid her shock at Quinn's bluntness. In a level voice, she said, "This is a strange way to talk someone back into a band."

"I know," Quinn said, with a nervous laugh, "but I decided it was important to be honest. I don't like you, Sandi, and I know you don't like me."

"So why do you want me back?" Sandi asked, toying with her salad. "And why do you think I want to come back?"

"Well, for one thing, what I said was honest, but not necessarily true."

"You sound like Daria now."

"I've spent too much time with her lately." Quinn waved a hand dismissively. "What I'm saying is that I don't like the Sandi I know, but you're not that person. I'm still treating you like the person you were in high school, because that's the person I don't like, but I haven't taken the time to find out if she's gone."

"You still sound like Daria," Sandi said. "How do you know I'm not the same person?"

"For one thing, the Sandi Griffin I know didn't play bass guitar. She listened to boy bands."

Sandi's expression soured for a moment, remembering the mass-produced crap that had filled her high school years.

Quinn saw the look and smiled. "I listened to that stuff because I liked it. You listened to that stuff because you had to." Sandi grimaced again as Quinn continued. "Even in high school, I didn't know you that well, because I only saw what you showed me, and now that we're in the band, it's even worse. I see you three or four times a week, and we never talk, and never bother to find out about each other. I'm still seeing the person who saw me as a threat and tried to keep me down while keeping me close. She'd never have told me off to my face."

Sandi nodded, conceding the point.

"Well, I'm a different Quinn, too. I told you that months ago. I'm not into status bullshit anymore. I just want to have the life I want, and right now, that means making the band work. If we're successful, who knows? If not, that's why I'm still in school."

"So where does that leave us?" Sandi asked.

"Getting to know each other again, if you want. We've wasted a lot of time over the past three years."

"We?" Sandi said, raising an eyebrow.

"We," Quinn returned firmly. "You didn't exactly go out of your way to show us a new side. If it wasn't for Mom, we wouldn't even know why you're in Boston."

"And why is it your mother's business where I am?" Sandi demanded.

"She was worried about you. As soon as the divorce went through, your mother resigned as head of the Lawndale Businesswoman's Alliance and left. She took Sam and Chris, but no one said anything about you. We didn't know if you were back in school or on your own or what. Mom was so relieved to find out you were up here with us."

A sudden tide of bitterness welled up in Sandi. Her own mother couldn't be bothered with her, but Quinn's mother, who had no reason to like her, was worried. "Unbelievable."

Quinn blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The whole situation." Sandi threw her arms wide, narrowly missing a diner at the next table. "I'm in Boston, of all places, surrounded by Morgendorffers. You and Daria want me back in your band, and your mother worries about me. Meanwhile, mine never wanted me to play music in the first place and could give a shit if I lived or died." An edge of hysteria came into her voice on the last words.

"Sandi, I—" Quinn started to say, but Sandi cut her off.

"So you can see why I hate you," she spat, and wondered at what she said. _Will Quinn bolt? Isn't that what I want?_

Quinn stayed where she was, and smiled. "Well, of course," she said. "How could you not?"

"Because you're better than me?"

"No!" Quinn said. "Because you had so much taken from you. And no one's ever tried to understand you."

"Except you, I guess." Part of her appreciated Quinn's attempt at sympathy, but she couldn't let go of her bitterness.

"Especially us," Quinn said. "Like I said, we've been looking at who you were you, not who you are. And I think that's why you quit."

"Not because I hate you?"

"No, that's just seeing us as who we were." Quinn's eyes, wide and serious, bored into her. "I'm sorry we're your way out, and I know how much you must resent it, but I think if you can, if we can, put everything behind us, we can be stars. But I don't think we can do them without you."

"And if I quit?" Sandi raised an eyebrow, hiding her shock at Quinn's sudden perception.

"We'll still try," Quinn said. "But I don't think we'll get as far. For some reason, we all fit together. It's sort of like the Fashion Club, I suppose."

"I don't think so," Sandi said. "For one thing, your sister and Jane can read."

Quinn smiled briefly. "Well, yeah. But that's not what I meant. I mean, when you think about it, there wasn't any reason for the four of us even to hang out, let alone to be popular. We all read the same magazines and liked the same clothes, but besides that we had so little in common with Stacy and Tiffany, it's a wonder we never killed each other. But for whatever reason, we stayed popular as long as we stayed together."

Sandi just shrugged.

"Well, that's what the band is like. It's not like bands have to be friends. You should hear Jane's stories about her brother Trent's band. You can even still hate us if you want, though I'd like it if you didn't. I'd like to try to get to know you again without all the baggage. Well, except the baggage from the band, but we can work that out."

"And why should we work it out?"

Quinn shrugged. "Like I said, we're better together."

"Girls together," Sandi said, and something inside of her loosened, something she didn't know had been tight until that moment. "Exactly," Quinn said. "Look, no one expects you to be there tonight, so take some time and think about it. If you want to come back, you know where to find us." She stood, and then paused for a moment as if looking for something to say. "See you Tuesday," she finally said, and then added a Quinn smile and left.

Sandi spent the evening thinking about what Quinn had said. She supposed that she'd made up her mind to rejoin the band even before Quinn left, but the extra time was welcome. She had a lot of stuff to come to terms with. _Quinn and Daria were right. Even though we've been together for almost a year, we haven't given each other a chance._ Not everyone was her mother. Some people could be trusted. Or at least worked with. And if she couldn't let go of all her hate, at least she could channel it into the music. She had two songs to prove that.

She showed up at Daria's on Tuesday at 6, just as if nothing was different. It was Jane who answered the door. "So, I guess the demons are working on their slalom skills," she said with a smile.

A week ago she might have snapped at Jane, but right now humor seemed more natural. "At least all those evil penguins are comfortable now."

If Jane was surprised, she didn't show it, merely chuckling. "You're right on time."

"How'd the gig go?" Sandi asked as they headed up the stairs.

"We muddled through," Jane said. "Told Mike you were sick. Quinn didn't sound too bad, but Mike was pretty clear that he expects a four-piece next Saturday."

"And did someone tell you I'd be coming back?"

Jane turned and gave her a careful look. "Nope. Quinn and Daria both said you were still the bassist as far as they were concerned, but they didn't make any guarantees."

Sandi shrugged and wondered whether she should be angry, and then wondered why she wasn't. Eventually, she gave it up as a waste of time and followed Jane.

Downstairs, Daria stood calmly, guitar in hand, while Quinn paced nervously. Sandi merely murmured, "Hello," and went to plug in.

As she did, Quinn spoke. "Do you want to do your song, Sandi? Before we start rehearsing, I mean?"

It was the same tone she'd used the day they'd tried "Shards." But in light of their conversation yesterday, Sandi heard her differently. Quinn wasn't trying to win, just to keep the peace. _And she did help me lose that weight, junior year._ "Thanks, Quinn," she said and smiled a little uncertainly. "But let's just get ready for the audition. There's always next rehearsal for new stuff."

Daria's peace offering was more explicit. "And maybe you can help me with 'Shards.' Another point of view might help us salvage something."

"Daria, it's got too many points of view already," Jane grinned.

"Just call the time, Lane."

As they played, Sandi felt something well up inside her—not love, or necessarily even affection, but a sense of well-being, of _belonging_, that she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd been in the band for a year already, but maybe it was only now that she really felt a part of it. She had a sudden conviction that the gig at LL Wolf's was theirs for the taking. _Girls Together_, she thought as her fingers flew. _Maybe not forever_, _but for now is good enough._

**Author's Note:**

And after more time thank I care to think about, Story Four is here. It was a bitch to write, and required extensive revision, which took far longer than I thought it would. The title is adapted from "Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)" by Bruce Springsteen and the E STreet Band.

For this one, my beta readers, smk, Kristin Bealer, Brother Grimace, and Richard Lobinske, went above and beyond, pointing out the flaws in the original draft and doing a second round of beta after the rewrite. This story wouldn't have been half as good without them.

**Disclaimer:**_ Daria_ and all characters are copyright MTV 1997–2002. I own nothing and am merely along for the ride.


	6. Ebony Sisters and Manager Misters

"Charmed circle," Quinn sang to the cheering crowd. "Open the circle," responded Daria and Sandi in harmony even as Daria's guitar wailed over the interlocking beat of Sandi's bass and Jane's drums. They repeated the call-and-response for a couple more measures before rolling into the now-familiar band introductions.

"Jane Lane on drums," Quinn said as the guitar and bass parted to bring Jane's beat to the fore.

"Sandi Griffin on the bass." As always, Sandi didn't acknowledge her name or the crowd, but she did spit out a blizzard of notes that would have made Les Claypool proud.

"Daria Morgendorffer on lead guitar." Daria belted out crunching chords even as she turned toward her sister, saying, "And Baby Sister Quinn Morgendorffer hitting all the high notes!"

Quinn acknowledged her name with a half-smile, before turning back to the crowd. "Charmed circle," she sang again, and the music swelled to a crescendo. "We're GTS, and we love you. Good night!" With a crash, the music stopped, and another roar went up from the crowd.

During the outro, Daria had noticed a familiar face in the crowd, so as the Girls left the stage, she put a hand on Quinn's arm.

"I'm gonna be a few minutes," she said. "I think I saw someone I know in the crowd. Tell Jane and Sandi where I went. If I'm not back before the load-out, come get me."

Quinn smiled. "The last time you disappeared during the load-out, we got the steady gig at LL Wolf's out of it. I think we can cut you some slack."

"Thanks," Daria said, already turning. She scanned the crowd until she found the face she sought. "Well, I'll be," she said aloud as a familiar pair of eyes met hers and Jodie Landon came toward her.

"Daria!" said the pretty, dark-skinned girl. "It is you!"

"Hi, Jodie," Daria said with a wry smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Fancy seeing you on stage," Jodie said with a chuckle, as the people around them made a small space so they could talk. "I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you up there."

"I had kinda the same reaction when I noticed you in the crowd. Aren't you supposed to be in Virginia?"

"At Turner, you mean?" Jodie smiled, as Daria nodded. "I finished in three years, so now I'm keeping my part of the bargain with my father. I'm working on my MBA at Crestmore, and taking classes in public policy."

"Same old Jodie," Daria smiled.

"What about you? I can't believe you're in a band. And with your sister! That was Quinn, right?"

"In the flesh," Daria said. "I'm sure you remember the bassist and drummer, too."

"Then Jane is the drummer," Jodie said. "I thought so, but she was hard to see behind Quinn, and I couldn't hear the band introductions properly. The bassist looks familiar, too, but I can't place her."

"You remember Sandi Griffin?" Daria said, as nonchalantly as possible, and then worked hard to restrain a grin as Jodie's jaw dropped. "Yes, it's true. And no, I'm not crazy."

After a minute of shock, Jodie said, "There's gotta be a story there."

Daria nodded. "It's not as exciting as all that, but if you've got some time, I can tell it to you. I just have to help with the load-out first."

Jodie sighed and looked at her watch. "I'd love to, Daria," she said, "but I've got to run. I'm giving a presentation on Monday and I've still got tons of work to do."

Daria shook her head, a half-smile on her face. "Same old Jodie."

"Listen," Jodie said, rummaging in her purse and fishing out a card. "Here's my email address. Drop me a line during the week, and we'll get together."

Daria took the card, looking sheepish. "I'll try, but I've got a pretty busy week too."

Jodie laughed. "Not quite the same old Daria, huh?"

Daria shrugged. "Everyone changes." With a smile, she added, "I'll try to get in touch, but if I don't, we're here next Saturday and at LL Wolf's on Thursdays."

"Cool," Jodie said. "Hope to see you next week."

"Likewise," Daria said, as Jodie made her way through the crowd.

Her eyes followed Jodie's progress for a second before scanning for her bandmates. Finding them at the bar talking to a guy she didn't recognize, she quickly moved over to investigate. As she reached them, the guy got up and left. From what little she saw, he had a duck-tail haircut and at least one gold chain around his neck.

"What was that about?" she said to Quinn, who was nearest.

"Well," the redhead replied, "that guy who left just offered to be our manager."

"Manager?" Daria blinked, feeling a sudden stab of apprehension.

"Yeah," Jane added from over Quinn's shoulder. "He said he could get us more and better gigs."

"Isn't this a good gig?" Daria said.

"Of course," Jane said. "But we need to get more."

"And we're behind on our union paperwork," Sandi chimed in.

"I told you guys I'm going to take care of that on Monday," Daria said.

"Didn't you say the same thing last Monday?" Jane asked.

"I got called into work and I had a paper to finish," Daria snapped. She hated when the others nagged her about paperwork. She hated it more when they were right. "I'll get it done this week."

"Alright," Jane said. "As long as you're sure."

Daria drummed her fingers on the bar as she got her rising temper under control. Starting an argument in public right after a show was a bad idea, especially since she'd probably lose. Instead, she changed the subject. "What else did that guy say?"

"A bunch of bullshit," Jane said. "I stopped listening when he started to promise us the moon on a string. A manager would probably be a good idea, but that guy was just a sleaze."

"Yeah," Quinn added, with a laugh. "Did you see the gold chains and the leather pants? Who was he trying to fool?"

Sandi just shrugged, though her face wore a mocking half-smile.

Daria felt relieved. "Well, I'm glad we're not making any long-term career decisions here."

"Not tonight anyway," Jane said with a smirk. "So what did Jodie have to say, anyway?"

Daria didn't even bother asking how Jane knew. Her amiga had a way of surprising her every now and then. "Nothing much, just saying hello."

"That's good," Jane said. "For a second, I was worried you were going to tell me that she's our new manager."

Something in Jane's expression changed Daria's mood from relief to worry.

On the whole, Quinn was happy with the show that night, but she had a feeling that something weird had happened or was about to. When she'd said goodnight to Jane and went to bed, she'd expected, or at least homed, to fall right asleep, but her mind kept going in circles. She wasn't surprised that Daria was already getting weird and territorial at the mention of the word "manager." It was just like Daria to cling to doing those jobs, even though she was always bitching about how much she hated them.

Jodie turning up was a little weird, and Jane's reaction was also weird. Quinn had never had much use for Jodie, but she knew Daria liked the other girl, which she thought meant that Jane did too. But thinking about it now, something in Jane's voice or body language had said that Jodie popping up like that wasn't welcome at all. Quinn knew she'd have to think about it some more.

Sunday gave her no chance, though. Brunch had been crazy busy at work, and though she'd made almost twice as much as she usually did, her feet were killing her by the time she got home. Once there, she plowed through all the laundry and crap that she'd ignored for the whole week. Monday was eaten up with schoolwork. Daria, only a couple of weeks from graduation, was the only one with classes left, but Quinn and Jane both had final projects to finish. After a long day, she finally got home and was just getting comfortable when Jane blew into the apartment like a red and black hurricane.

"I swear I'm going to kill that sister of yours," she said, before Quinn could even say hello. "I called her to today to make sure she got the paperwork done and she wouldn't answer the phone."

"Maybe she was out getting it taken care of," Quinn said, raising her hands in what she hoped was a calming motion.

"She has a cell phone, Quinn," Jane said, teeth clenched, "which she also didn't answer. Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn?"

Quinn couldn't help but laugh at that. "Why are some girls prettier than others? Why is my hair so red? Why does the sun give off heat? Come on, Jane."

"Very funny, Quinn," Jane grumbled. "I'm serious. This is important shit, and Daria's ignoring me about it."

"You know she doesn't like people butting in to her projects. It'd be like if you asked to help with one of her songs."

Jane grimaced. "Yeah, she gets weird and possessive so easily. I mean, look at what happened last month. Sandi comes in with a song and next thing we've all but broken up because of Daria."

Quinn remembered it slightly differently—both she and Jane, but especially she, had played major roles in almost driving Sandi out of the band—but Jane's look said clear as day that she wouldn't like it if Quinn tried to correct her. Instead, she sighed and asked, "What's the big deal? We've left all this stuff to Daria before."

"I know," said Jane. She started pacing across the room, a sure sign of irritation. "But I don't like it. And I like it even less now that she's starting to fuck it up. If we don't get that paperwork in, the union's not gonna let us play, and we'll lose the gig at LL Wolf's."

"Do you want me to talk to her, Jane?" Quinn asked, trying to calm the other girl.

"What I want is to get a manager to take care of shit like this," Jane said. "Let Daria worry about songwriting and keeping Sandi under control, and let someone else worry about getting us better gigs and making sure our paperwork is done."

"We don't really have the money to pay a manager, Jane," Quinn said.

"We would if we started getting better gigs, which is what a manager is for."

"Wow." Quinn smiled. "That guy on Saturday made a better impression on you than I thought."

"Be serious, Quinn. That loser just wanted to get into someone's pants."

Quinn could feel her skin crawl at the thought of putting out for a guy like that. She was so busy getting rid of the mental picture that she missed what Jane said next. "What?"

"I said if you want to talk to Daria, go ahead. Make sure you tell her she makes a shitty manager." Scowling, she added, "I'm going to bed." Her door slamming made the perfect exclamation point.

The next day, Jane was up and out before Quinn woke. Quinn wasn't bothered, because she would see the drummer at rehearsal that night. Plus, Jane would probably still be in a bad mood for most of the day. "Let someone else deal with her for now," Quinn muttered, looking at her roommate's open bedroom door.

Once on campus, she finished up one of her remaining projects and got some work done on the other. Feeling pleased with herself, she headed over to Daria's around four. No one answered when she knocked, or when she rang the bell, so she pulled out her cell. After getting no answer from Daria's home number, Quinn lost her temper.

"Hello mystery lady," she snapped. "It's your wonderful sister who puts up with your shit more than you deserve. So answer the fucking phone and let us know you're alive so I can kill you myself."

She hit the disconnect button on her phone, feeling better for letter her anger out. Then. since she wasn't about to stand in front of her the apartment for the next two hours, she went shopping.

Jane had calmed down somewhat by the time she got to Daria's for practice. For one thing, she didn't like being mad at Daria, and for another, she knew that her friend was aware of her control issues and was working on them. So when Daria finally opened the door, she was prepared at least to be civil. "Hey, amiga," she said, "how's tricks?"

Daria shrugged. "Same as always."

"Anyone else here yet?" Jane asked as she followed Daria upstairs.

"Yeah," Daria said, over her shoulder. "Sandi got here a little while ago."

"Oh?" Jane said, as they emerged into the apartment. There was no sign of Sandi. "Where is she?"

"Downstairs," Daria said. "She's messing around with some new music."

Jane raised an eyebrow at that. Something odd was going on there, and she needed to find out about it, but she had more important things on her mind. "So did you get the paperwork in?"

Daria shrugged. "It's just about taken care of."

"Just about?" Jane tried to keep her voice level. "You said you'd have it all done yesterday."

"I know," Daria said. "I got stuck at the bank, and then Mike couldn't find the stuff I needed from him. By the time I got that taken care of, I had to come back here for rehearsal."

"You could have held up rehearsal, you know. I would have understood."

Daria shrugged. "I figured it wasn't that big a deal. I'll finish up tomorrow. I would have finished Monday if I hadn't spent the whole day wrestling with Murphy's Law."

"Not a big deal?" This time, she let her temper loose. "Daria, if we don't get the union stuff squared away, we may not get to play on Thursday. We might lose the gig at LL Wolf's! I'd say that's a pretty big fucking deal!"

"It will be taken care of, Jane." Daria said in her flattest monotone, which Jane knew meant that Daria was losing her temper too. "How many times do I have to tell you that before you're satisfied?"

"You don't have to tell me at all," Jane shouted. "You just have to do it! For fuck's sake, Daria, you're the one who's always pushing us to move faster, and if you fuck this up we might be back to square one."

"Well, excuse me for being busy. I don't know if you noticed, but along with the band, I have a job and I'm graduating college in two weeks, provided I can finish three papers and pass four finals before then. So if I slip up, I have some reasons."

"Cry me a river, Daria." The two of them were almost nose to nose, and Jane wasn't giving an inch. "You insist on taking everything on your shoulders, and you won't even take basket-weaving courses to make your life easier. I'm not going to buy into your martyr bullshit when you climbed up on the cross and drove in the nails yourself."

"Well, I don't see you climbing up here to help me down," Daria snapped. "What do you want from me, Jane?"

"I want you to admit you've taken on too much and accept that we need a manager."

A spasm of something crossed Daria's face, but before she could answer, the basement door opened and Sandi's head popped out. "Hey, Daria," she said, "I'm not sure that chord change you suggested is working." She trailed off as Jane turned to glare at her.

"We're busy, Sandi," she said.

"No we're not," Daria snapped. "I'm not getting into this with you right now, Jane." She turned and followed Sandi down the stairs, leaving an angry Jane gaping.

Torn between going downstairs to rip both Daria and Sandi a new one or storming out, Jane stood and seethed. Finally, the door opened behind her to reveal Quinn, a shopping bag in each hand and a cheerful expression on her face. Jane watched as the cheer on the redhead's face was replaced by worry. "Uh oh. Wrong apartment," she said and started to back away.

"Get over here, Quinn," Jane snapped.

"What did Daria do?" Quinn asked.

"How do you know it's not you I'm mad at?"

"You're wearing your 'Daria pissed me off again' face," Quinn said. "Sandi and I just get your normal angry face, no matter how much we piss you off. Daria doesn't piss you off as often, but when she does, you get about ten times madder and it shows." Jane grimaced, and Quinn added, "I'm not sure if it's a best friend thing or a Daria thing. Though I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Thank you for that useless sidelight, Quinn."

"So what did she do?" Quinn took a seat on an arm of the couch.

"She still hasn't gotten the union stuff done, and she blew me off for Sandi when I tried to call her on it."

Quinn shrugged. "She blew me off today, too. That's why I ended up going shopping." She held up the bags. "Wanna see what I bought?"

"I'd rather pull my own head off," Jane said. "What I want is to get Daria to admit she's wrong."

"And I want a complete Donna Karan wardrobe. Neither of us is going to get what she wants, though," Quinn said.

Jane felt her temper rising again. Getting mad felt almost good. "Is this how I look when I'm pissed at you, Quinn?"

"That's not going to help either," Quinn said. "Grab a beer or make yourself coffee or something and cool off. We can go down in fifteen minutes or so."

Jane really wanted to stay angry, but she knew Quinn was right, so she took the redhead's advice. Two beers later, she was ready to face the other half of the band, so she and Quinn headed downstairs. Daria and Sandi were facing each other, working on an intricate little guitar—bass riff. After a moment, they seemed to realize they had an audience and stopped. "Before we start, we'd like to play something for you," Daria said, as Sandi nodded. Without waiting for approval, they started with the same riff they'd just been playing. That segued into a faster, chord-driven section, as the two girls began to sing. It wasn't until about halfway through the song that Jane recognized the lyrics:

_Broken words, broken hearts, broken love_

_Still not sure what I was dreaming of_

_Pick it up try again soon I'll see_

_I'm never as strong as I used to be_

Shocked, Jane turned toward Quinn—who, going by the look on her face, had just had the same revelation.

"That's 'Shards,'" she gasped, as Daria and Sandi finished.

"After a little work between the two of us, yes." Daria smirked. "I hope it sucks a little less now."

"There was plenty of good material there," Sandi added. "We just, like, had to find the right way to use it."

Quinn wanted to jump right into learning the new vocal parts and seeing if keyboards would add anything, but Jane was strangely reluctant. Handing Daria a major win so soon after their fight seemed almost like giving in, and the fact that Sandi was Daria's co-conspirator made it even worse.

Jane was all in favor of Daria being more cooperative, at least in theory, but to see her amiga working well with Sandi while she was left out in the cold really bugged her. Quinn was a known quantity and someone they'd learned to deal with, and even appreciate, but Sandi was different. Jane knew the band needed her, but she still didn't trust her. Sandi seemed to be setting herself up as Daria's biggest ally in the band, for what ulterior motive Jane couldn't guess.

This wasn't really the time or place to explain all that, though—especially with Sandi right there—and an explanation was the only way to get out of playing. So she shrugged, grabbed her sticks, and settled in behind the kit. After a few minutes, she was able to lose herself in the music and forget about the bullshit. She was pretty sure that it'd all come back as soon as they were done playing, though.

That night, Sandi had trouble falling asleep. It had been an eventful day—an eventful month, really. She'd gone from walking away from the band to building at least one deeper relationship, and with Daria Morgendorffer, of all people.

Daria had played her 'Shards' again a couple of weeks ago, and she'd immediately had some ideas. She'd been surprised the other woman was so open to them, even though Daria had come to her for help.  
When she'd said this, Daria had smiled. "Well, it doesn't make any sense to ask for your help and then ignore your advice. I tried something that didn't work, and I don't know where to go with it." She gave her usual half-smile. "Asking another songwriter seems like a sensible next step."  
"You think of me as a songwriter?" Sandi blurted before she could stop herself. She could almost see her mother's sneer, mocking her for seeking approval.  
"You've written songs, haven't you?" Daria's half smile didn't change. "Did you think there was an initiation ceremony and a secret handshake?"  
The image receded, replaced by something like comfort. "Are you going to teach it to me, or I do I have to, like, make one up for myself?"

"We'll figure something out," Daria said.

Lying in her bed now, a couple of weeks later, Sandi was surprised at how pleased she'd been with their combined effort. She thought back on all the so-called projects the Fashion Club had tried, and how infighting and head games had ruined all of them. Cooperating successfully with someone was a nice feeling, she decided—or at least it beat trying to drive wedges in between her bandmates just to see how far she could push them.

Of course, practice hadn't been a fairy tale of felicity. They'd roughed out a full arrangement for "Shards" and rolled through some of the other songs, which went well, but as soon as they finished, Jane was out the door without a word. Clearly, she had a bug up her ass about something, and Sandi couldn't help but wonder if her writing with Daria was at least some part of it. A few months ago, she'd have been over the moon to find a weakness in Jane, but then a few months ago, she'd never have been working with Daria in the first place.

She sighed and rolled over, stilling her racing thoughts. She wasn't going to be able to solve the band's problems tonight, and besides, she had to work tomorrow. She dropped of quickly.

Work blew by the next day, and she was at loose ends in the evening. Strangely, she found herself wanting to call Quinn, but she decided against it. She'd see Quinn soon enough anyway. Instead, she messed around with another piece of music she had in her head. There were no lyrics to go with it, but it felt like the beginning of a song, so she wrote out the chording for later consideration.

The next day, she turned up on time for the load-up before the gig, but when she knocked on the door, Jane answered. "So," Sandi said, "are you the permanent doorman?"

Jane's expression said she wasn't in a bantering mood. "The hotel manager is out to lunch and this bell girl is not happy about it," she said and stomped up the stairs, Doc Martens echoing loudly in the cramped stairwell.

Quinn was waiting at the top. "Hey, Sandi," she said. "Glad you made it." She wasn't seething, like Jane, but the slight emphasis on the "you" showed that she wasn't happy with her sister either.

"So where is Daria?" Sandi said, looking around. "It's not like her not to be here."

"Damned if I know," said Quinn. "I got here about ten minutes ago, and there was no sign of Daria and no note. Just Jane swearing like a crazy woman."

"With good fucking reason," Jane snapped. "We still don't even know if Daria got the fucking union paperwork done."

Just then, they heard the sound of boots on the stairs again, and before anyone could say anything, Daria appeared in the doorway. "Crap," she said. "The one time I'm late, everyone else is early."

"And where the fuck were you?" Jane snapped, as Quinn glared from over her shoulder.

"Making sure we could play tonight," Daria said, walking past Jane and into the kitchen. She appeared a moment later with a beer. "No thanks to that cokehead bookkeeper at LL Wolf's. I got all the union paperwork over yesterday and he swore he'd pass it along to the owner. So I get a call around noon saying they don't have it, and we can't play unless I get it. I had to blow off my last class and run over there to get it straightened out." Popping the top, she took a long swig.

Jane's expression, Sandi noted, had lost some of its hostility, but Quinn wore a look of surprise and concern. Not sure what it meant, but wanting to defuse the tension if she could, Sandi said, "So, are we like ready for the load-up?"

"In a minute," Daria said. "I deserve this after the fucking day I've had." She made short work of her beer. "Okay. Let's go."

As Daria turned away, Quinn whispered something to Jane, but Sandi couldn't hear it. She was aware of the undercurrents, though, so she tried to remain unobtrusive as they gathered up the equipment. The fault lines seemed to be pulling in a different way today, and she wanted to avoid getting sucked into it.

They got the equipment loaded and reached LL Wolf's without incident. The owner, Lester Benz, greeted them at the door. "Thanks for getting the paperwork in for me, Daria. I'm glad I didn't have to scrounge up another band at the last minute."

"You're welcome, Mr. Benz," Daria said, as the Girls filed in, carrying their instruments.

Benz, a lean, graying fiftysomething with sunken eyes, smiled. "I've told you a bunch of times already, call me Les." He was trying to be ingratiating, Sandi knew, but he just looked predatory.

Daria mumbled something that sounded like an apology and the four of them got set up. After a couple of songs, Sandi could tell something was off. She and Jane weren't quite clicking on the backbeat the way they usually did, and the harmonies weren't as tight as usual. Quinn was in fine voice, but Daria's guitar lacked its usual fire. Still, the first set went over well, and Benz, who was between the bar and the stage, seemed happy. The same could not be said of her bandmates.

She followed the others out the back door in time to hear Jane snarl, "Well, that sucked. Care to explain why, Daria?"

Daria only folded her arms and glared. She was good at glaring, Sandi noted, not for the first time.

"Do you think it was maybe a bad idea to have a drink before we went on, Daria?" Quinn said, drawing a faint look of surprise from her sister.

Before Daria could reply, though, Jane jumped in. "Come off it, Quinn. There's no way one beer is going to cause Daria to screw up that badly."

Daria finally responded to Jane's goading. "I don't know if you noticed, Jane, but between work, school, and the band, I'm freakin' exhausted. I'm sorry it took a toll on my playing. But you were behind the beat all night. What's your excuse?"

"My fucking guitarist couldn't carry a tune tonight, that's what!" Jane said. Sandi hadn't seen her this angry since the blow-up they'd had about designing the logo and outfits. That time, Sandi had deliberately caused the explosion, and had enjoyed the show, or at least some of it; she'd skipped out when things had threatened to turn violent. This time wasn't nearly as much fun. She was finally starting to enjoy a sense of belonging with the band and was worried it would all fall apart here. Her worry was reinforced when Daria stalked off, muttering curses under her breath. Jane soon disappeared in the other direction.

"Are they gone for good?" she asked Quinn.

"No," Quinn replied. Although worry lines clouded her face, the singer still seemed reasonably calm. "Daria, at least, wouldn't pass up the chance to make a big speech if she was quitting. And Jane's the drummer. She gets to come back and hit stuff."

"Uh, good," Sandi said and lapsed into silence as Quinn looked off in the direction her sister had gone.

Daria reappeared about ten minutes later. Her expression hadn't changed so far as Sandi could see, but her demeanor seemed different. Confirming this, the first thing she said was, "I'm sorry about the fight, and I'm sorry about the first set. The second set will be better."

Sandi thanked her and so did Quinn.

Jane didn't turn up for another ten minutes, and when she did, she clearly hadn't regained control of herself the way Daria had. Instead of saying hello, she walked right past them and settled herself on the drum stool without a word. An almost palpable rage seemed to rise from her.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, the second set was better. Jane hit the drums with precision and force, allowing Sandi to find the beat right away. Daria's playing had a lot more fire, and Quinn's vocals were superb. They knocked off with "Roadrunner" that night, instead of "Charmed Circle," and left the stage to delirious cheers.

Benz was waiting for them when they got off the stage. "Now that's what I call a show," he said, grabbing a hand and pumping it effusively. Fortunately, Sandi thought, the hand was Daria's, since she wasn't sure the rest of them could hide their disgust as well as Daria could.

"I've got someone I want you to meet," he said, and began half-pulling, half-pushing Daria toward the bar. Quinn automatically followed, her doll face radiating worry. Before Sandi could say anything, Jane too disappeared, leaving Sandi alone and wondering which bandmate to follow. She found with a certain shock that Daria was now the one in the band she felt closest to, but she also worried that following her was almost like a declaration of allegiance, and she wasn't ready to go that far. Plus, doing so would alienate Jane, possibly permanently. With a sigh, she turned to look for the erratic drummer.

Sandi found her out back, leaning against the brick wall of the club, facing away from the door. "Hey," she said by way of greeting and peace offering.

Jane didn't turn, but she said, "Was I behind the beat?"

"I dunno," Sandi said, choosing honesty over false reassurance. "All I know is like we weren't clicking during the first set. It could have been you or it could have been me, or even both of us."

"Yeah," Jane said. It seemed for a moment that her anger was gone, until she suddenly snarled, "Fuck Daria. She's bad enough, and now I'll bet fucking Jodie is going to be up our asses all the time."

Sandi was about to ask why Jane was so mad at Daria, but the mention of Jodie threw her for a loop. "Jodie Landon?" she asked.  
"What does she have to do with anything?"

"She turned up last Saturday. That's where Daria was while we were fending off the Creature from the Eighties Lagoon. And I'll bet you dollars to donuts that she's gonna end up our manager somehow." She paused for a long moment—for effect, Sandi thought—before saying, "And then I will shoot myself in the head on Daria's porch, and she can clean up the body."

Sandi still didn't understand why Jane was mad. "I don't get it. Why would Jodie end up our manager? And why would it matter? She seems like she's on the ball, and all the rest of us are from Lawndale, right?"

"Because I don't like Jodie," Jane said, biting off each word. "I never have. She's a backstabbing social climber who sucks up to whoever she thinks will help her most."

Sandi smiled, because she'd never had much use for little Miss Perfect either. "And?" she said.

"But Daria does like her," Jane noted. "And Daria likes to keep the people she likes around her. So if she has a chance to draw Jodie into our little charmed circle," she smiled sourly, "she'll find a way."

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to Daria?" Sandi said.

"No." Jane turned to face Sandi, a rolled joint in her hand. "I'm going to smoke enough weed to keep me from punching Daria in the face. And then I'm going to go home, sleep it off, and not worry about it until Saturday." She lit the joint and took a long hit. "You want?" she said, holding it out to Sandi.

For just a moment, Sandi couldn't help but wonder what this meant. Was it a peace offering, an invitation, or a recruitment pitch? She pushed those thoughts away, deciding not to worry about status games or band politics. Jane was here, looking for someone to bond with; as a friend, Sandi should do what she could. Anyway, it wasn't like it would be her first time getting high. She reached for the joint with a smile.

Meanwhile, Daria was not enjoying herself at all. Benz had dragged her and Quinn off to a far corner of the bar, occupied only by an unkempt guy who looked to be in his late twenties.

"Daria, Quinn," Benz said, "this is Hank Muller, a good friend of mine." Hank extended a hand, which Daria shook, ignoring the clamminess of his palms.

"Pleased to meet you," she managed, hating herself for lying.

"Like I said," Benz noted, "Hank's a good friend of mine and he knows a lot about the local music scene. I think he might be able to help you girls."

"Yeah," he said. "I've seen you guys play, and you're pretty great! I'd love to take over as manager!" He was very enthusiastic; Daria had to give him that.

Daria exchanged a quick look with Quinn, whose turned-down lips signaled a no. "Well, tell me some of what you know about the music scene."

"I've been around to a bunch of different places all over Cambridge, Somerville, Boston, JP, even as far as Quincy." His head bobbed as he talked. Daria wasn't sure if his enthusiasm was getting the best of him or he had some sort of involuntary twitch. "This is one of the top places. So's Camelot and Elysium. I'm sure you know where that is, out in Allston. The places in JP aren't as big. The Rock and Roll Café opened a place, and they have pretty big room."

"You know people at all these places?" Daria asked, almost impressed despite herself.

"Sure," he said with a breezy wave. "I know all the guys."

"Cool. So who books Camelot?" Daria asked. "We'd love to get in there, even if it's early in the week. Right, Quinn?"

Quinn still looked nonplussed, but nodded and chipped in. "Yeah. I mean our first gig was Tuesday nights at October's. We could totally do Tuesdays again in a bigger place."

"October's? Cool!" Hank said. "A buddy of mine lives over there. Do you guys know the owner?"

"Uh, yeah," Daria said, now more than sharing her sister's unease. "He's the guy who hired us. Do you know the guy who books at Camelot?"

"No," he said. "I know one of the bouncers, though. That should help, right?"

"I suppose," Daria said, hiding a sigh. "Listen, we have to talk to Mr. Benz and then discuss it with our bandmates."

"Oh sure," he said. "Just tell Les when you decide, and he'll get in touch with me." With a big smile and a last bob of the head, he disappeared.

"Do you mind finding Jane and Sandi, Quinn?" Daria asked. "I want to have a word with 'Les.'"

Quinn smiled wickedly and disappeared. Daria walked to the other end of the bar where Benz had reinstalled himself. "What was that?" she asked.

He gave her his oiliest smile. "Great kid, isn't he? Knows the music scene like the back of his hand."

"He's a nephew, right?" Daria said, all patience gone. "He can't be a friend's kid. Guys like you don't have friends." She saw his expression change and cut him off. "Cut the crap, Benz. I've had a long day and I just want our money. We can forget that you tried to pawn an incompetent kid off as our manager and we'll start fresh next week."

He nodded, suddenly all business. Pulling out a wad of bills, be counted out five hundreds and some twenties. "Five hundred against 10 percent of the gate, and we got 400 people in at a $15 cover."

Daria took the money without changing expression. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Benz," she said.

She was shocked by his sudden smile. "You too, kid. You got a pair on you. If you girls wanna hang around, the first round is on me."

Daria nodded her thanks and moved off to find Quinn, but Quinn found her first. Her face was twisted in an expression of horror. "Daria," she wailed, "you've got to come quickly. I went looking for Jane and Sandi like you said, but they weren't in the bar anywhere, so I looked in the bathroom, thinking Sandi might wanna, you know, freshen up, and they weren't there either. So I called out the back door. No one came, so I checked, and they were... they were..."

"Please don't tell me they were making out, Quinn," Daria said. "Because I don't need the Behind the Music crap."

Daria's crack had the desired effect, as Quinn's eyes went wide and the verbal flow stopped. "Eeeeeewwwwwwwwww! Don't even joke, Daria. They were smoking pot."

"And?" Daria raised an eyebrow.

"Daria, they're doing drugs!" Quinn said.

"Say it louder, Quinn," Daria snapped, "The whole bar didn't hear you."

"You don't think it's important?" Quinn said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Let me know when they start doing coke in the bathroom," Daria said.

"Daria!" Quinn said, shocked.

Daria sighed. Clearly her sister wasn't going to give up on this, and as the closest thing to a parent, she was going to have to deal with it. "Okay, Quinn. Let's go see the Dope Show."

Without giving Quinn a chance to argue, she headed out the back door, where she found Jane and Sandi against the wall of the club, passing a joint back and forth.

"Hey, Daria," Jane said, her voice a little thick. "Want a hit?"

"No thanks," Daria said in her usual monotone.

Sandi's eyes narrowed. "I see Quinn told you to come and like read us the riot act."

"All I said was I didn't want a hit off your joint."

"But, you're like disapproving us or something, like Quinn did, just because we want to relax."

"I'm disapproving that we haven't even started the load-out, and I'm pissed at Benz for trying to pawn a total incompetent off on us," Daria said with an edged smile, "but I'm glad to see you two are bonding, no matter how you do it."

"Like, whatever," Sandi grunted.

"Ah, come on, Daria," Jane said. "Have a drink and relax. We'll be back in a few minutes."

Stung, Daria narrowed her eyes, but before she could speak, Sandi started giggling, her anger of a moment ago forgotten. Her giggles set off Jane, and soon the two of them were laughing fit to burst and leaning on each other for support. Daria shook her head in disgust and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked, as Daria maneuvered past.

"I'm taking Jane's advice," Daria said. "Benz even said the first round is on him."

The edge in her sister's voice made Quinn worry. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Daria."

"Relax, Quinn. I'm not going to start pounding shots or anything. When Jane and Not Silent Enough Bob finish their synchronized giggling, we'll do the load-out. In the meantime, I may as well have a beer. Join me?"

"Uh, no thanks," Quinn said. "I think I'm going to hit the ladies room. Call me when we're ready to get loaded."

It wasn't until the redhead was out of sight that Daria gave vent to her irritation. "Some of us already are," she muttered and headed for the bar.

The next morning, Daria was relaxing in front of her computer with a cup of coffee. One beer had stretched to two, but not to three, so even though she and Quinn did most of the load-out, she wasn't feeling any aftereffects this morning. After visiting a couple of news sites, she opened her email, where she found a surprise waiting—an invitation to have lunch with Jodie today.

"Why not?" she said aloud. "I don't have to be at work until three."

Thus, at lunchtime she found herself tucked into a corner booth at a tiny Indian place in Jefferson Square. After a moment, Jodie slid into the booth across from her, a smile on her ebony face.

"Wow," she said. "When's the last time we did this, Daria?"

"I'm going to have to go with never, Jodie," Daria said. "You never had time to sit down and just have lunch with someone."

"And you never wanted to have lunch with anyone but Jane."

"Touché."

"So you're in a band," Jodie said, shaking her head in wonder. "With Quinn of all people. How did this happen?"

Daria shrugged. "Quinn and I started getting along better during senior year, and that sort of carried over. Plus, she can sing, which I never actually knew."

"And Sandi?" Jodie said.

"Well, that's a longer story," Daria said, and told Jodie about the series of auditions and how Sandi ended up pretty much falling into their laps. "So enough about me," she added. "What's going on in the world of Jodie? Mack still in the picture?"

"Nope," Jodie said. "We did the long-distance thing for about a year, but we both realized that we had less in common than we thought. There's more to the black experience than being tokens in a lily-white suburb."

Daria nodded, and Jodie continued. "Turner was pretty amazing, and I learned a lot about myself, but after three years, I was ready for the wide world again. Even from Crestmore, MBAs aren't worth the paper they're printed on, but I'm networking like crazy."

Daria gave a sour half-smile. "Learning who's worth sucking up to?"

If Jodie was uncomfortable with Daria's tone, she didn't show it. "Some of them are real creeps. Makes me sick to my stomach to deal with that kind, but I've gotta face facts. These are the people I'm going to be asking to bankroll whatever business I go into. If I can shake some of their money loose to provide opportunities to ambitious black kids who don't have a rich father, I'll take that trade every day and twice on Sundays."

"I guess that makes sense," Daria said. "And it's not like I can criticize. You should see some of the lowlifes I have to deal with to get gigs."

"So you're doing the paperwork and getting the gigs and everything?"

"Someone's got to," Daria shrugged again. "None of the others want the job."

"So why don't you have a manager?"

"We've been talking about it," Daria said. "It would make my life easier, God knows. I'm freaking exhausted between school, work, and keeping the band running. But there's really no one trustworthy. Like I said, most of the people on the edge of the music scene are either idiots or lowlifes, and everyone's on the make." She could feel her nerves tightening as she spoke. Every word she said to Jodie was true, but she wondered how many of them were directed at herself.

Jodie smiled. "I may just have a solution for you."

Intrigued, despite her discomfort, Daria listened. The more she heard, the more she realized this could resolve most of her worries. By the time lunch was over, she was willing to give it a try.

Quinn, meanwhile, was still pondering the scene she had walked in on after the gig. Lying in bed after the gig, she couldn't believe that her bandmates were doing drugs. Even in her mind, she said the words "doing drugs" in a terrified hush. Then, when she'd processed the idea, she couldn't believe that she couldn't believe that Jane would smoke pot. Stoner musicians and stoner artists were, after all, almost a cliché. Then, she couldn't believe that a _Fashion Club member_ could smoke pot. Finally, she realized how stupid that was and fell asleep.

She spent her Friday at work thinking she needed to talk to Jane, so she passed up a chance to hit the bars and headed home right after work. She apparently wasn't the only one with that idea, because Jane was waiting when she got there.

"Hey," Quinn said, as she slung her bag down next to the couch. "I thought I might have to wake you when I got home."

"No," Jane said, pointing to the couch to offer Quinn a seat. "I was up painting. I figured you'd get home around now. I want to talk to you."

Quinn sank down, feeling uncomfortable as she waited for Jane to continue.

"I'm sure you've noticed what's been going on." Jane's voice was pensive as she met Quinn's eyes.

Shocked, Quinn snapped, "How could I miss it?"

Jane's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm surprised, Quinn. This is a little subtle for you."

"Subtle?" Quinn's voice rose. "Jane, you were standing right outside the back door."

"I mean, it's not like she—" Jane started to say, when Quinn's words finally registered. "Quinn," she started again, disbelief in her voice. "Are you talking about Sandi and I smoking pot after the show?"

"Well, duh," Quinn said. "What else would I be talking about?"

"How about Daria screwing up the manager thing?" Jane said. "If you think that's less important than me and Sandi blowing off steam, though, you can get out your DARE pamphlets and I'll tear them up."

"So you think I shouldn't make a big deal out of my roommate doing drugs?" Quinn said.

"No," Jane said, nettled. "I'm a big girl and so is Sandi. Call Betty Ford when we start doing coke in the bathroom. Until then—."

Quinn's sudden laughter stopped Jane in her tracks. "I'm sorry," the redhead said, getting control of herself. "It's just that Daria said the same exact thing with the same exact expression." Quinn noticed Jane's frown deepen at the mention of Daria and decided that it wasn't so funny after all. "What do you mean about Daria screwing up the manager thing?"

"She's been filing our paperwork late for like a month now, but if you suggest she needs help, she gets all closed up. She blew off that guy at Wolf's without even talking to us."

"Come off it, Jane," Quinn said. "I met the guy too, and he wasn't worth bothering with. I mean, we need a guy who knows owners at big places, and he was bragging about knowing the bouncer at one club."

"Still," Jane said, "she could have asked us."

"No, she couldn't have." Quinn said, annoyed. "You and Sandi were out back getting high, remember?"

"I though we were off that, Quinn?"

"I never said that," Quinn said. "But even if we were off that, I can still call you on not being around for me and Daria to talk to. And when we tried to come out and talk to you, you and Sandi blew us off." She suddenly felt curious and a little nervous. "And what was up with that, Jane? You and Sandi don't usually get along."

Jane shrugged. "I think we got most of that out of our system last month. And I think we cleared the air a little on Thursday."

"Don't you mean, you filled it with pot smoke?" Quinn said, feeling the right side of her mouth go up in a half-smile kind of like Daria's.

"Cut the crap, Quinn," Jane said. "I'm serious. We've all sunk too much time into this band to let your sister screw it up because she's got control issues."

"I don't know, Jane," Quinn said. "I mean, I know I've been thinking about the manager thing more lately, and I'm sure Sandi has too, but partly that's just because of the idiots we ran across at the last two gigs." She raised a hand to stop Jane from saying anything. "And I'm not saying you're not right, because you are. We need a manager, but finding the right one is going to take some time. And it's not like the four of us have even really talked about it yet. And you haven't really asked Daria if she's okay with it. She seemed interested in the guy on Thursday—until he started talking, I mean."

Jane grumbled, "You know how Daria is. She can be such a pain in the ass about things she doesn't want to deal with."

"Which is why we have to talk to her," Quinn said. "If we don't, she's not going to deal with it, and we'll be stuck waiting for her to get paperwork done every time we get a new gig."

"If we get a new gig," Jane said. "I guess you're right, Quinn. We'll talk to her tomorrow before the load-up."

Quinn nodded, and went to bed. The next day was uneventful and she headed over to Daria's a few minutes early. When she got there, Jane wasn't around, but Sandi was. The brunette was sitting on the couch, chatting quietly with Daria. Quinn was a little weirded out, she had to admit, but she was also happy that her sister and Sandi were making an effort to get along.

"So what are we talking about?" she said as she plumped down on the couch next to Daria.

"Chord changes," Daria said. "Nothing exciting." Sandi nodded. They were both giving off a slightly weird vibe, but Quinn decided to let it go and change the subject. Before she could, Jane came in.

"Late for the party again, I see," she said, giving all of them a sour look.

Daria either didn't see or chose to ignore Jane's expression, and gave her a typical half smile. "You know, civilized people knock," she said. Ignoring Jane's glare, she added, "But then you're a drummer, so that's an oxymoron."

Quinn wondered why Daria was needling Jane when it was obvious, to Quinn at least, that Jane wasn't in the mood for it. "Are we ready to start the load-out?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"One thing," Daria said. "I know you guys have been saying we need a manager and I think you're right."

Jane muttered, "Hallelujah," worrying Quinn even more.

Daria gave Jane a sour smile. "Believe me, I hate running around getting paperwork together three hours before a gig even more than you guys hate wondering if we're going to get to play that night. The problem," she added, "is finding someone who can do the job who we can trust. Those clown shoes we met in the last week aren't going to cut it. Either they'll fuck it up, rob us blind, or fuck it up trying to rob us blind."

Quinn waited for Daria to finish. Her sister was obviously over whatever had freaked her out about getting a manager, which made Quinn relax. Now that they were all on the same page, she felt like the sniping and bitching would end, at least for now. So when she heard Daria say, "Well, you know I saw Jodie Landon after last week's gig," the last thing she expected was Jane to swear and bolt to her feet so quickly that the chair fell. That was what happened, though.

"I told you," Jane said, pointing at Sandi almost accusingly. "I told you what would happen!" Then, before Daria or Quinn could say anything, she stomped out of the apartment slamming the door behind her.

Quinn looked to her sister for an explanation, but Daria was as confused as she was. They shared a blank look for a moment before both turning to Sandi.

"Are you really planning on, like, having Jodie be our manager, Daria?" Sandi said.

"Huh?" Daria still looked confused. "Is that why Jane flipped?"

Sandi nodded. "She doesn't like Jodie at all."

For one of the few times she could remember, Quinn saw her sister at a loss. "Huh. You'd think I would have noticed that," Daria said.

"Jane said she's a backstabbing social climber," Sandi noted.

Quinn, who shared that opinion, nodded. "I know you like her, Daria, but she's not someone I'd turn my back on. She is very bright, though."

"Well," Daria said, "I can put all of your minds at ease on that. I'm sure Jodie wants to manage a band almost as much as you all want her as the manager."

"So why did you mention her, then?" Quinn asked.

"She knows a guy in her MBA program who is looking for a band to manage." Daria held up a hand to prevent comments. "I figured this might be worth a shot because someone we knew vouched for the guy. And even if you don't trust Jodie like I do, she's a better bet than a lowlife like Benz or some guy out of the blue."

"I won't argue, and I'll bet Jane won't either," Quinn said. They'd all seen the kind of weasels and losers who hung around the edges of the clubs.

"Good," Daria said, nodding. "I'll go and get her and we can start the load-up."

"You better not," Quinn said. "Jane's kinda put out with you right now. Why don't you let me talk to her? I'm pretty sure I can get her to calm down enough so that she'll listen to you."

"I think I can talk to my best friend, Quinn," Daria snapped.

"Quinn's right," Sandi said. "Jane's like too pissed off to listen to you. Let someone else calm her down first." Surprised at the support, Quinn almost missed Sandi's next words. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Caught off guard, Quinn locked up for a moment. She was trying to trust Sandi more, and it seemed like Sandi was trying to calm things down, but part of her still wondered what Sandi's real motives were.

Not waiting for an answer, Sandi said, "If nothing else, Jane'll be surprised by seeing the two of us like together long enough to maybe listen to us."

"I guess that makes sense," Quinn said.

The two of them didn't have to wait long to find Jane. Almost as soon as they walked outside, they saw her running flat out down the street. As she passed Daria's house, she flipped them the bird and kept going. Quinn was shocked and annoyed, and the amused smirk on Sandi's face didn't help. A couple of minutes later, Jane came around the block again, and this time she stopped.

"So," she said, not even panting. "Daria send the two of you out to drag me back?"  
"No," Quinn said. "I wanted to talk to you. And Sandi asked to come along."

"Don't think you're going to talk me into having Jodie as our manager," Jane said. "I already told you, Sandi, that she's a weasel, and I won't have her." Quinn was surprised at the anger in Jane's voice, and that Jane had confided in Sandi rather than her or Daria.

"No one said anything about Jodie being our manager," Sandi said. "Then what the hell was Daria talking about?" Jane said.

"Well," Quinn said, "She did mention Jodie and I guess you were worried about that, which is why you ran out when you did."

"I did not run out," Jane said.

"Look, Jane," Quinn said. "I know you're stressed and mad at Daria, but if we're going to do this manager thing, we have to talk—all four of us. So let's go back upstairs, listen to what Daria has to say and see if it makes sense."

"Yeah," Sandi chimed in. "If it does, we'll go from there. If not, we'll do something else."

Jane didn't say anything right away. As the silence stretched, Quinn thought she could feel her nerves tightening. She knew Jane very well by now, but she truly had no idea how her roommate would react. Sneaking a look at Sandi, she was surprised to find her looking calm and composed.

Finally, Jane spoke, and Quinn let out the breath she hadn't realize she'd been holding. "Fine. As long as it's not Jodie we're talking about, I'll listen. But give me a few minutes. I still need to run out some aggression." Without waiting for an answer, she ran off.

"Think she'll come back?" Sandi said.

"Yeah," Quinn said, relief washing over her. "Jane's good about stuff like that."

"Good." Sandi nodded. "And thanks, Quinn."

Quinn followed her up the stairs, relief replaced by confusion.

Jane let the pounding of her feet against the pavement drain her anger. Her regular stride, so much like a simple drumbeat, carried her forward as houses, cars, and trees passed in a blur. She hadn't given herself time to run for too long, and maybe that was part of the problem.

Although her schedule wasn't as rough as, say, Daria's, Jane did feel like she was busier than she'd ever been before. Between school, the band, tending bar a couple of nights a week, and keeping up with her art, she'd let her running slide, and that had been a mistake. Running was her way of clearing her head, of emptying herself of the rage that bubbled up in her with no real outlet.

She felt the burn in her arms and legs, and with the burn came clarity. What she really resented, she realized, wasn't Daria falling behind, so much as Daria running things with the band. She hadn't admitted it to herself, because Daria being in charge was the outcome she'd expected, and even wanted. That was before she'd realized that forcing those responsibilities on Daria would open a wedge between the two of them.

Jane slowed as she came back around to Daria's street. Blaming Daria for doing what she wanted, Jane decided, was pretty stupid. Maybe she was acting out, something she'd never really had a chance to do before, since acting out needed some sort of authority to act out against, and her parents hadn't really given her that. Whatever the reason, she decided it was time to stop.

Returning to Daria's apartment, she let herself in. Quinn and Sandi both looked hopeful, but a little worried. It was Daria's face she needed to read, though, and Daria was the queen of the closed expression. "Sorry I flipped out for a minute there," Jane said, hoping Daria was ready for the peace offering. "I'm back and I'm ready to listen."

"Thank you, Jane," Daria said, tone of voice telling Jane nothing, "Before we were so rudely interrupted," she continued, slightly mocking, "I believe I was discussing a possible solution to our manager dilemma." Daria quirked a half-smile in Jane's direction, and Jane felt a sudden warmth. This was Daria, her best friend, and if dating the same guy hadn't come between them, the band certainly wouldn't.

"Jodie has no interest in managing a band. Even if we all wanted her, she's not a big music fan and she knows nothing about the industry," Daria said. "But she does know a guy at Crestmore who is interested. He's got some hooks in the industry, because his dad's a lawyer, and brokered deals between venues in the Boston area and conglomerates like LiveAmerica and Ticketlord. I think it makes sense to at least meet the guy. From what Jodie says, he's smart, committed, and wants to be his own man, which could be good for us."

The other two girls, Jane could see, were already on board, and she had to admit, with good reason. The guy sounded like a paragon compared to the other losers—the guy she'd met and the other one Quinn had told her about. "Sounds good," she said. "When do we meet him?"

"He's coming to the gig tonight," Daria said. Jane felt her rage rise again, but she pushed it down. Daria may have seen a change in her expression, though, because she added, "I told Jodie we wouldn't necessarily talk to him tonight, but if he wants to see us play, now is as good a time as any."

"Eh," Jane shrugged, thinking about running and letting calmness back into herself. "We may as well do it tonight. No sense in wasting time, right?" Quinn and Sandi made noises of agreement.

"Then let's get loaded up," Daria said. "After all, we've got a gig to play, and we need to play well. There'll be someone in the audience we may want to impress."

Play well they did. Jane could feel it almost from the first chord. All four of them were totally in sync tonight. Because she and Sandi were clicking, she felt free to add more rolls and fills to her playing, knowing the bass would bring her back to the beat. She could feel herself propelling the music, almost connected to the hundreds of feet moving in time to her rhythm.

They closed the first set with an extended rave up of the instrumental they called "Fuck Off and Die," and the crowd moved ecstatically with them. When Quinn announced that the first set was over, the raucous cheer she got in response was deafening. All four Girls were smiling as they left the stage.

"Not bad, huh?" Daria said as they walked down the stairs.

"Better than Thursday," Jane smiled.

Daria nodded, a rare full smile filling her face.

"Where are the others?" Jane asked, as the two of them sat down at the room's only table.

"Quinn's still basking in the adoration of the crowd. And Sandi," Daria looked around quickly. "Sandi's got some thinking to do, so she's probably grabbing some alone time while she can."

"Good," Jane said. "I don't think they need to hear this anyway."

Daria said nothing, but Jane could see the concern cross her face.

Now that it came down to it, Jane was almost reluctant to say anything, but this was her friend sitting across from her and she owed it to both of them to be honest. She took a deep breath and forged ahead. "I know I've been a pain in the ass for the last couple of weeks, pushing you about the manager thing and giving you shit you don't deserve, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Jane," Daria said.

"Let me finish. If I don't get this all out now, it's not going to come out, and I really need to say it." She took another deep breath. "I really thought I was just worried you were taking over and that the band would suffer, but I finally figured out that I don't like the way you being in charge is changing our friendship. And that's pretty immature, because I'm the one who wanted you in charge in the first place."

Daria digested this for a minute, then spoke. "Is that why you flipped when you heard Jodie's name?"

"Yeah," Jane said, feeling ashamed. "I mean, it's bad enough I have to share you with Quinn, who I've at least learned to like, but now you're spending all this time with Sandi, who I'm still not sure about. If Jodie came in as manager, there'd be someone I know I don't like putting up another barrier between us."

"Two against the world," Daria said, with a sad half-smile.

"Yeah," Jane said. "Sometimes I miss those days."

"Well, now we're four against the world," Daria said. "And when we find a manager, we'll be five against the world. But you'll always be my primera amiga, even when you're calling me incompetent, saying my songwriting sucks, or getting high with the bassist behind my back."

"You're not going to start in on that too, are you, Daria?"

"Relax, Jane," Daria half-smiled again. "You're a big girl and you know how to take care of yourself. And so's Sandi."

"Yeah. I was kinda pissed at you that night, so I decided to hang out with someone not named Morgendorffer."

"Feel free." Daria became thoughtful. "I think you'll be surprised the more time you spend with her. I know I was. Behind the bitchy Heather exterior we knew from high school, there's a smart and talented person hiding. Plus," her smile turned wicked, "she's even better at winding up Quinn than you and I are." They both laughed at that.

"So," Jane said to a still-smiling Daria, "Are we good?"

Daria nodded. "We're good."

Jane suddenly felt an intense sense of well-being, as if something that had been out of whack inside her for a long time suddenly slipped back into its accustomed place. Her normally optimistic nature reasserted itself, and she felt like good things were about to happen, in the second set and after.

Sandi had indeed been thinking. She stood outside the back door looking out on a clear spring sky and back on her life. Thanks to her mother and her experiences over the last few years, she'd learned to distrust her positive feelings. Happiness was a transitory thing that could, and would, be stolen away in the blink of an eye. The band might be permanent—certainly the others intended to take it as far as they could, and looking for a manager suggested they were in for the long haul—but it might fall apart any minute. It almost had a few weeks ago, thanks to her.

In the weeks since then, she'd really committed herself, not holding herself apart like she did before. As a result, she'd started to feel like she had a real place within the band. Daria at least was showing her a degree of respect she'd never anticipated, and she'd cleared the air with Quinn. Even Jane, who was far less welcoming than the other two, was willing to blow off steam with her, if only because she was pissed at everyone else. Maybe the band was Sandi's route to happiness. Or maybe it would fall apart, like everything else in her world.

After a few minutes, she grew tired of her maundering and went downstairs. There she found Daria and Jane sharing a laugh, something that hadn't happened in her sight for quite a while. She shoved down hard on the jealousy she suddenly felt, and gave the two girls a quiet, "Hey!"

"Hey, Sandi," Jane said. "Ready for the second set?"

She thought hard about the question, weighing her long-term worries against her immediate issues, and came to a happy conclusion. "Yeah, I am. I only hope we like rock this set as hard as we did the first." She hated her Valley Girl verbal tick, but couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"We will," Jane said, radiating certainty and confidence. Sandi felt like stealing some.

"And we'd better do it now," Daria said, "before the adulation goes to Quinn's head and she decides she doesn't need us anymore." It took a minute, but Sandi joined in with Jane's laughter.

They did, in fact, rock the second set—maybe not as hard as the first set, but the crowd seemed happy. Syncing with Jane had been effortless in the first set, but she had to work hard now to keep the rhythm flowing. It didn't bother her, since she knew that the moments of perfection were just that: moments. The transforming power of the music was still with her, and that was what mattered.

They finished with "Roadrunner" again, and the crowd ate it up. Sandi still disliked the song, but Daria and Jane had been right in every particular about how well it went over. The crowd was still cheering as a dark-skinned couple made their way over to the bandstand. It took Sandi a minute to recognize Jodie, who had ditched the cornrows she wore in college for a pixie cut. She figured the guy must be either Jodie's boyfriend, their potential new manager, or both.

Daria had obviously come to a similar conclusion. "Hey, Jodie," she said, her voice neutral. "I see you've got someone you want us to meet."

"And who wants to meet you," she said with a smile. "Guys, this is Brian Lambert. He's in the same program as me at Crestmore." Turning to the guy, who was close to a foot taller than her, but thin as a rail, she added, "This is the band: Daria's the guitarist; the redhead is her sister Quinn, the lead singer; and the two dark-haired girls are Sandi, who plays bass, and Jane, the drummer." Out of the corner of her eye, Sandi saw Jane bow mockingly at the mention of her name.

"Pleased to meet you," Brian said, in a deep, rich voice. "Shall we get down to business?" His khakis and polo shirt screamed preppy and the designer logos indicated wealth as surely as the Crestmore MBA program.

"That's my signal to get out of here," Jodie said. "Good luck, guys!"

Sandi thought Jane looked more relaxed now that Jodie was gone, but Daria looked more tense. She wasn't surprised, therefore, that the auburn-haired guitarist took a confrontational tone. "So why should you be our manager?"

"Connections," he said with a smile. "You can ignore me and keep playing October's on Saturday night until the end of time. Or you can let me work the phones and you'll be playing five nights a week all over Boston. And once we get that rolling we can talk about New York and Philly, and making demos." He spread his hands. "It's up to you."

"No offense, but what does a Crestmore MBA student know about managing a band?" This from Quinn, to Sandi's surprise.

"The MBA's for networking, Red." Lambert ignored Quinn's frown. "Get to know the movers and the shakers, so when I own my own record company, I know where to go for investors and business help. Plus, my dad's footing the bill. And he's in the business, which is why I have connections in the first place."

Sandi briefly wondered if she should speak up, but Daria and Quinn seemed to be handling things well. Jane seemed to have the same idea she did, watching and listening as the grilling commenced. Over the next hour, Daria and Quinn gave a virtuoso performance of Bad Cop/Worse Cop, with neither Morgendorffer sister giving an inch and Brian Lambert expecting none. He met every one of their questions with a smile, didn't evade or hem and haw, and never lost his temper. And from what Sandi could tell, which she admitted to herself wasn't much, he really knew his stuff.

Finally the interrogation ended, and Lambert disappeared to the bar for a drink so the Girls could talk things over. "Well?" Daria said, Quinn glowering over her shoulder.

Sandi was pretty sure the guy would do, but wasn't sure how to say it, so she was relieved when Jane spoke up. "I think he'll do," the black-haired drummer said. "He knows his shit, and he makes a better impression than that other clown we met."

"Yeah," Sandi chimed in, now that Jane had freed her tongue. "He's a serious person who knows what he wants, not just some guy who thinks that tagging along behind a band will make him rich."

"That's true," Daria said, in a slow, thoughtful way. "He needs us, or someone like us, to reach his goals, as much as we need someone like him to reach ours. So both sides have something to gain."

Sandi could tell the three of them were in accord, and felt a smile creep across her face to match the one blooming on Jane's. She wondered for a moment why Daria still seemed torn until she remembered that one of them hadn't spoken.

"Am I the only one who thinks this all might be a little too easy?" Quinn said, a frown on her pretty face. "I mean, it took us months to find a bassist and now we're going to get our perfect manager in less than a week?"

"Hardly a week, Quinn," Jane said.

"We've wanted a manager for over a month," Quinn said. "We started seriously looking less than a week ago." Sandi once again made a mental note not to underestimate Quinn. The bubbly optimism and bouncy red hair hid a very sharp mind, as Sandi had reason to know.

"Okay, Quinn," Daria said, taking control of the situation in the way she was so good at. "What don't you like about him? Is it just a bad feeling, or is it something concrete?"

"It's in between," Quinn said. "It's more than just a feeling, but it's not something I can easily explain. He reminds me of Bret Strand—you remember him, right Sandi? The guy who used to make up and break up with Stacy every other month? He seemed like a great guy until you got to know him, but if there was any way he could take advantage of you, he would."

Sandi did remember Bret Strand, and her opinion of him was even lower than Quinn's. Going back over the conversation, she looked for telltale clues in Lambert's behavior to see if Quinn's feeling was right, but she couldn't remember any.

"I don't know, Quinn," Jane sounded dubious. "It's awfully thin to throw away a chance like this."

"I know," Quinn said. "But a guy who would cheat in love would probably cheat in money too. Do we really want to spend our prime years in lawyers' offices?"

"Well," Daria said, half-smiling, "There's something we could do to prevent that. After all, we have a pretty high-powered lawyer on permanent retainer, and she can at least make sure that we can get out of any contract we sign."

Quinn considered for a moment and then a slow smile crossed her face. "We could get out of just about anything, couldn't we? Even if Mom doesn't know all the ins and outs, I'm sure she knows someone who does."

"Does that satisfy your concerns?"

"Yes. I think it does."

They went back to the bar and told him to meet them tomorrow night to talk about percentages and the like, but Sandi didn't really listen. She was too busy hiding her jealously and wondering what it would be like to have a mother she could depend on.

They ended up meeting Lambert in Crestmore Square, which suited Daria fine, since she wasn't about to let someone she'd met once know where she lived. He arrived at the restaurant, a small, dimly lit Italian place around the corner from where Quinn worked, promptly at 8 like they'd agreed.

Jane, sitting to Daria's right, nudged her with an elbow. "Good to see he doesn't run on Spiral time, right amiga?" Daria gave her a half-smile.

"Well, hello again," he said, sliding into the seat between Quinn and Sandi. He took a slim leatherbound folder from the attaché case he was carrying and placed it on the table. "I took the liberty of drawing up a sample contract. You can take a look and tell me if it's something you're okay signing."

"We'll have our legal team look it over," Quinn said, taking the folder and passing it to Daria, who gave her sister a tiny nod.

If Lambert was surprised at that, he didn't show it. "I figure my cut is 20%, since that's what most managers get. I'm not married to the number, though."

This time it was Daria who responded. "I don't think we'll have a problem with that, provided you can get us better gigs than we can get ourselves. We pull in about $1,000 each every month. We'll give you 20% of every dollar over that. As far as royalties and things, we can address those when the time comes." He frowned at that, which she took as a good sign. She wasn't totally sure about the numbers, but the four of them had discussed it and the other Girls seemed comfortable.

"How about 10% of the first $5,000 gross every month, and 20% after," he finally said, and smiled wryly. "I'd like to at least get something if we happen to have a bad month."

Daria gave each of the other girls a searching look, but no one seemed upset. Jane was usually the one who kicked up a fuss about money, but whether she was truly satisfied or simply staying on her best behavior, her smile gave Daria a clear go-ahead. "I think that's fair." She rested her hand on the folder with the contract. "We'll get this back to you by the end of the week, and you can review it. If you're satisfied, we can get this signed."

Lambert nodded. "Sounds good. You girls are tough customers," he added, his smile growing wider. "But you have to be if we're going to go all the way to the top together."

All the Girls muttered some variant of "Thanks," and Daria wondered if the others found Lambert's words as trite as she did. Rather than brood on that, though, she took the bull by the horns. "So what are our next steps?"

"I'll start working the phones," he said, "while you get that contract looked over. The sooner we get the legal shit squared away, the sooner I get you better paying gigs."

"What kind of a time frame are we talking here?" Jane asked.

"I can have you on auditions in two weeks, without a problem," Lambert said.

Daria looked relieved. Two weeks would give her time to get safely graduated before introducing major upheaval into her life. "Sounds good," she said. "We'll have this back next week."

"And one other thing," he added, pointing a finger each at Daria and Quinn. "You both go by Morgan now. Morgendorffer is not a star's last name."

Daria met her sister's eyes with an identical look of shock. She suddenly wondered if the upheaval she had predicted had already arrived.

**Author's Note: **Done, done, done! I can't believe it took four fucking years to finish this thing, but here it is. Deepest thanks to smk, abe, and Gnome for heroic beta reading duties and making this story far better than it would have been otherwise. I'm not done with the Girls by a long shot, but I am done predicting when I'll be done with anything, but I live in hope that the next story won't take four years. The title, by the way, is adapted from Bruce Springsteen's "Blinded By The Light," which may be more familiar to some in the Manfred Mann version.


	7. Interlude: Impersonal Venus

**Impersonal Venus: **A GTS Interlude  
by Dennis

The crowd was roaring as GTS left the stage. Thursday nights at LL Wolf's weren't as big as Saturdays, but the Girls had a strong following and drew pretty big crowds. And the load-out usually took only about a half-hour, so people hung around after the show.

Daria, leaning on the bar with a Sam Adams behind her, sighed. _We've got to get a demo._ She understood the importance of communicating with fans, but she still had no patience for idle chitchat and preferred to have more than her personality to offer.

A guy sidled up next to her, but she paid him no mind as she tried to pick out her bandmates in the crowd. Quinn was easiest. She was near the stage, surrounded by a circle of guys, which Daria found a little worrisome. Quinn knew better than to drink around that many guys, but the potential for something bad was always there.

Jane took longer, but eventually Daria saw her at the other end of the bar, talking to a preppie who looked vaguely familiar. Curious, she abandoned her spot, and her near-empty beer, to see what was going on. Spotting her, Jane made an expansive gesture, causing three nearby people to duck. "Daria! Come on over!"

Daria rolled her eyes. "That's what I was doing." She noted as she slid in next to them that Jane's eyes were more than a little bloodshot.

"What's up?" Jane asked, oblivious to the disapproval in her friend's eyes.

"Not much," Daria said dryly. "Surprising, since it's a whole half-hour since we've seen each other."

Jane grinned, letting the sally pass. The preppy guy turned around at the sound of voices. He was tall, with sloped shoulders and the kind of oily smile and perfect hair that screamed "future politician." Jane gave him a smile, and gestured toward Daria. "Tim this is Daria. Daria, this is Tim Mathis."

Daria froze at the name, suddenly realizing why he looked so familiar. "Hello, Tim," she said coldly. "I'm surprised to see you here. Aren't frat parties and drunken sorority girls more your thing?"

"Hey, Daria," he said with a sigh. "Not as surprising as seeing you here. If I hadn't seen you on stage, there's no way I would have believed you were here, much less in a band."

"You two know each other?" Jane said, sounding puzzled.

"I've had the displeasure, yes." Daria said dryly.

"I dated her roommate from freshman year," Tim said.

"And asked me out while you were together," Daria added. "She showed up on my doorstep in sophomore year, bawling her eyes out when she finally found out how much you cheated on her."

"I'm sure you were a huge help too," Tim said, sneering. "What with empathy being your strong suit and all."

"Robin spent half of freshman year telling me she thought you were the one. Meanwhile, you were going through more girls than a seedy strip club in Vegas!"

"Well, I've changed my ways."

"Oh," Daria cocked an eyebrow, disbelief evident in her voice. "You're a one-woman man, now?"

He gave her a tight grin. "I don't lie about being faithful anymore. I already told Jane I'm not looking for anything steady."

Jane nodded, and grabbed his arm. "Yeah, Daria. We're just gonna have some fun. It's nothing serious."

Daria rolled her eyes again. "Be sure to use protection. Full body protection."

Jane's expression hardened. "Daria, I thought we were past you acting like a bitch every time I hook up."

Anger welled up at Jane's words. Daria pushed it down ruthlessly. _After all, Jane is right._ "It's not that you're hooking up, it's that you're hooking up with Raft's answer to Otter from _Animal House_._"_

Tim grinned and shoved out a hand to Daria. "Eric Stratton, Rush Chairman. Damn glad to meetcha." Jane chuckled. Daria didn't.

"Listen, do you need anything Daria?" Jane asked. "Cos we're going to get out of here soon."

Biting back several retorts, Daria shrugged. "Not really. You know where Sandi is?"

"Haven't seen her since we split a joint after the show," Jane said. "But I think she might have left with someone." Daria's frown deepened at that, so Jane added, "She's fine, Daria. Don't worry so much."

"It's just that I'd like to get famous before we start recruiting Yoko Onos to break us up," Daria deadpanned.

"No fear," Jane said. "I'm not looking for commitment. I'm young and wild, and I feeling having fun tonight."

"Fine. You go have fun. I'll pick up some topical ointment in the morning." Daria headed back to her beer as Jane and Tim headed for the door.

With a bit of effort, Daria found her spot. The bartender knew the Girls pretty well, and had a beer in front of her before she had time to blink. She started a swig, when a familiar voice next to her said, "Jane ditch you for a guy again?"

Turning, she almost spit her beer. There stood Tom Sloane, a little older, a little neater, but clearly and recognizably Tom. "I don't believe this," she said, shaking her head. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He laughed, "Not the greeting I expected from my second-ever girlfriend." He made a show of looking her over before adding, "Though maybe I should have."

"Sorry, Tom," she said. "It's just— Never mind. What _are _you doing here?"

"My frat has an exchange with Crestmore every year. They come down for a week; we go up for a week. The week's almost over, so they decided to get a head start on the partying."

"Fraternities," she muttered. "Bunch of animals."

He laughed. "I won't argue. A couple of the guys said we should come here because 'the band was really hot.' I think some of them are over there with your sister."

"Figures." She took another swig of beer. "Jane just went off with an Otter clone, but I don't think Quinn will be interested in Boon, Pinto, or Flounder."

"I hope that doesn't make me D-Day. I'd hate for my whereabouts to be unknown."

She cracked a half-smile. "I see you more as Hoover. You're looking well, Tom." He was, having somehow added an inch or two since senior year and filled out. The beer gut that many college guys picked up was noticeably absent. And he still had those dreamboat green eyes.

"Thanks," he said. "College life agrees with me. I'm learning some useful tools for the real world, and having a blast. Of course, I'm not sleeping much, but hey, I'll sleep when I'm dead, right? But you—" he trailed off. "I nearly died of shock when I saw you up on stage with Quinn and Jane. Of all the things I expected you to be doing, playing in a band was nowhere on the list." Daria's darkening expression softened when he added. "And you guys are amazing. Really! The originals were just—I mean, wow. Those are some fabulous lyrics."

"Are you flattering me, Tom?" Daria's voice was still flat, but the smile on her face invited him to flatter her some more.

"A little," he chuckled. "But only a little. You guys are really, really good."

She could feel the tension growing between them, but it was a good kind of tension. She suddenly wondered why she'd been so afraid to sleep with this man.

"And you know what else?" He leaned forward, voice a whisper. "The guys were right. The band was really, really hot."

"They were probably talking about the singer," Daria said, verbal walls going up even as the emotional ones came down.

"They were," Tom said, "but I prefer the guitarist." With that, he planted a light kiss on her lips, making her whole body tingle. "You want to get out of here?" he asked.

_Oh, yes!_ "Let me check in with Quinn," she said. He nodded and followed as she headed for the stage. One of the guys, seeing Tom with Daria, flashed him a thumb's-up sign, which he ignored, much to Daria's relief.

"Daria!" Quinn said. "Come and meet the—" Sudden shock painted her doll face. "Oh my God! Is that Tom Sloane?"

"In the flesh," he said with a smirk. "It's good to see you, Quinn."

"Tom and I wanted to catch up on old times," Daria said. "Will you be OK getting home?"

"What about unloading?"

"Tom'll help with that." She gave him a surreptitious punch in the arm to keep him from speaking.

Quinn's sudden smile showed that she'd clearly noticed. "No problems, Daria. Go have fun."

Daria grabbed her sister's arm, and whispered a word in her ear. "Cab?"

Quinn nodded, affection now clear in her smile. "Of course," she whispered back. "Hypocrite," she added, and laughed at Daria's blush.

They left the bar arm-in-arm and headed for the van. In the act of opening the door, she paused. "If we're going to do this, we should talk. I'm not interested in a long-distance relationship, or any relationship right now."

A silent moment stretched. _Did I just blow this?_ Tom's voice quickly dispelled her concern. "Makes sense to me. I'm not interested in a relationship either."

Her eyebrow cocked in question almost in spite of itself.

"Oh, I've dated, but just casually. I don't want to fall in love right now, and no one's persuaded me otherwise."

"Me neither," she said, as she climbed in. As she started the car, she added. "But I want you very badly right now."

"And I want you, too. So what are we waiting for?"

She laughed as she put the van in gear and headed back to her place.

In the end, Tom did help her with the load-out, but not until they'd had a hell of a lot of fun together. What with one thing and another—and another and another_—_they'd ended up blowing off classes. He finally left a little after noon, with a good-bye kiss and a promise to let her know the next time he was in town. Jane turned up a little after, the goofy smile on her face mirroring the one on Daria's. They exchanged apologies and split a pot of coffee.

Neither was surprised to hear the key in the lock or see Quinn's frame in the doorway. "You won't believe what Sandi—" she started to say, then saw the matching goopy expressions on her bandmates faces. "Ewwwwwww!" she moaned, and was gone.

It was a long time before Daria and Jane stopped laughing.

**Author's note:**

This one's for Brother Grimace, who asked me during the beta for "Closets Are for Hang-ups" why four hot college girls wouldn't be getting any action. There wasn't room in that story, but it's still a valid question, so here's at least part of the answer. I don't expect it will be the only part.

This interlude is actually set between the fifth and sixth GTS stories, but, of course, I haven't actually written the fifth one yet. Give me time. The title is adapted from the lyrics to "Be My Yoko Ono" by Barenaked Ladies, and the _Animal House_ references are for fun and because I thought of Otter when I came up with the idea. The Tim/Tom thing is coincidental but effective. Tim Mathis is a shout out to the original Otter: Tim Matheson.

**Disclaimer: **_Daria_ and all characters are copyright MTV 1997–2002. I own nothing and am merely along for the ride.


End file.
